Crossworlds
by drjekyllmshyde
Summary: They say love conquers all, but can it defy the will of God? This story is AU, and takes place shortly after the events of the novel. Erik/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I stumbled across my old account here, which I don't have an e-mail address for anymore. It had an old story on it I am just dying to rework and finish. If you want to read the original two chapters, here combined into one, please go to .net/s/2496939/1/Crossworlds. I'm mostly writing this to get my creative writing itch out, but feedback is appreciated.

Since most of you aren't going to go back and read my 6 year old work, let me explain: This is from a roleplay I did back in my early high school days called Crossworlds, in which I played Erik - the Phantom of the Opera. The roleplay was based on the original novel by Gaston Leroux as well as a book called Phantom by Susan Kay which I used to flush out the character a little.

* * *

Paris, France – 2002

The Opera House was gorgeous; everything the pamphlet had said it would be. It was like stepping back in time to the nineteenth century just walking into the foyer. Everything was fashioned flawlessly from gold and the finest woods and marble, the grand staircase poised in the center like something from a dream. The Palais Garnier was a beautiful to say the least, fully restored to how it had once been in its glorious days.

Aminta Mendelssohn, though her name suggested otherwise, was not Spanish at all. Her name had been chosen by her father from the work of _Don Juan Triumphant_, the rather risqué opera by a composer rumored to be the legendary Opera Ghost himself. Her mother was a tried and true New Yorker, her father French in every sense of the word. The scoundrel had left early on in Aminta's life, moving to Paris with his mistress less than a month after divorcing her mother, where he married her and started a whole new family.

So here she was, in the foyer of the Opera Garnier in France. David Mendelssohn had a nasty habit of disappearing whenever his daughter was due for a visit, and true to tradition he slipped out of the hotel room to take a phone call just before he was to take his daughter sight-seeing and was nowhere to be found when the tour bus had arrived. Aminta wasn't about to let her father's lack of parenting skills keep her from enjoying her vacation, however, and she left with the group without even a note left as to her whereabouts.

Ever since she was a little girl, Aminta had been fascinated by the legend of the Phantom of the Opera. It was an easy thing to do, as her father had close ties to the Opera Garnier. Aminta's mother had been reciting the story since she was a little girl, and the exceptionally bright New Yorker had first read it in fifth grade. By then she was hooked. Anything and everything that had to do with her beloved story was read, listened to, or watched eagerly. Aminta had even written essays on the infamous Opera Ghost, about how she supposed his past must have been to cause him to behave so. These often received harsh criticism from her professors, for the Phantom was simply a factious character. He had no past, only what was written of him.

Naturally, the Opera was the first place she wished to visit in Paris. After a few agonizing hours touring the more typical sights of Paris, the tour bus finally screeched to a halt in front of the neo-baroque style building. It was a royal pain to have to follow a tour guide, but there was really no other choice; it was either stay with the group or be thrown out, so Aminta had stayed, noting the points of the legend the tour guide had neglected to point out – the horseshoe on the door to ward off spirits, for instance.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen, through these doors now, don't push. Are we all in then? Good." The old man spoke again in his thick Parisian accent. "May I present to you, Madames et Monsieurs, the Opera Ghost's private box: the Grand Tier's Box Five…" The man went on about how the profits had greatly declined during the nineteenth century because of the Ghost's demands the box be reserved for himself, the first and last time he would mention the legend.

His words fell on deaf ears. "If I had an Opera at my feet, I'd request this box too!" Aminta breathed to herself as she peered over the railing, earning several nods of agreement. "The view is…"

"Breathtaking, I believe you were going to say." The tour guide smiled proudly. "I'm glad you like it, Mademoiselle Mendelssohn. Your father reserved it for you for this night's production of Don Giovanni. Said you had some sort of interest in the legend…"

"Interest would be an understatement, Monsieur." Aminta spoke in flawless French, receiving a jolly smile from the gentleman. "Wait a moment, how do you know my father?"

"He is the leading subscriber here, is he not? I doubt you'll find a man or woman in this place who does not know of him. And you look almost exactly like him. I simply guessed from there, Mam'zelle. Isn't he supposed to be here with you today?"

Aminta pushed a brown curl over her shoulder and forced a smile and quoted her father's favorite phrase "Business before pleasure." The tour guide nodded, almost sadly Aminta thought, and resumed the tour by filtering people from the room. Aminta was still quite reluctant to leave the awe-inspiring view.

Some unseen force drew Aminta back to the railing of the box. She could have sworn she could hear faint music on the air, though from her vantage point it was obvious nobody was in the orchestra pit. The music weaved its way through her mind, caressing her softly.

"Mme Mendelssohn, your father would be quite angry with me if I lost you." The tour guide called back into the box, but Aminta was not listening. The music quietly consumed her, and drew from her throat words and a melody that were so familiar yet she was sure that she had never heard them.

"_Domine suppliciter _

_obsecro ut mihi _

_nota Angelus custos!"_

That last eerie note lingered in the air a fraction of a second before the ground began to shake and the lights flickered. Aminta stumbled back frantically into the relative safety of the box. There was the odd sensation rather like the drop on a rollercoaster, and when the lights went out completely the New Yorker was certain the building had collapsed beneath her.

Hardly thirty seconds after the lights went out, they returned. There was something strange about this lighting though… were those gas lamps upon the walls?

Screams echoed from the theatre below. Aminta ventured back to the railing, eyes widening in horror at the sight of a man in low-income Victorian dress hung lifelessly over the stage, head bent at an unnatural angle.

An unfamiliar voice called out below them. "He's back! Oh God, somebody fetch the managers, and quickly!

* * *

Paris, France – 1882

Patience had never been one of his greater virtues, and the reconstruction of the Opera House was certainly trying what little patience he had. The infamous Opera Ghost did not take well to boredom, but what other choice did he have; he had caused the damage, what else could be done but wait for it to be repaired?

In his boredom and rage he found himself picking off the lesser ranked workers repairing the Opera, especially those who came too close to discovering his underground kingdom. So far he had merely dumped their bodies into the lake to destroy the evidence. Erik had never been one to kill for sport, but it was certainly better than killing himself.

No matter how he had begged for death when she left, no matter how he had threatened to kill himself if he didn't die of grief first, the Phantom of the Opera feared death. Living on Earth was as close to Hell as he had come, but Erik knew just what was waiting for him should he choose to end his own life. Even if his soul could be redeemed, he did not particularly like the idea of going to Heaven to spend his afterlife with the God who had damned him. The final option of Purgatory wasn't appealing either; pride would never allow him to wander around repenting for the innumerable crimes he had committed.

After just over a year construction was finally coming to an end, and Erik had decided the people in his kingdom had gone far too long without knowing who controlled their every thought and action. Tonight's killing would not be for sport, the innocent soul would not simply disappear off the face of the earth like the others had.

Erik paced in the shadows with the grace and forced patience of a jungle cat. The only thing keeping his victim's short attention span focused was the occasional intentional rustle and movement in the shadows. More often than not, this was not the Opera Ghost at all, rather a pre-placed prop that would move of its own accord or make popping sounds that sounded rather like footprints on a ladder. He certainly could have picked a more inquisitive victim, he mused with annoyance. But the trap was in place and must be seen through.

The length of the Punjab Lasso fell through his gloved fingertips as he coiled and uncoiled the rope anxiously. He had been dormant far too long, it had been ages since he had last heard the delightfully gratifying sounds of panicked humans. Finally! The man was close enough to the Ghost and far enough away from his peers, and with a skilled flick of the wrist the Phantom let the Punjab fly, expertly catching the unsuspecting dolt by the neck. In far more than an instant the man was suffocated (that was the intention, of course; Erik was forced to suffer daily pain, why should his victims be spared it?), strangled by the very string of catgut that was winding itself for the final time in its master's leather-clad hand.

Erik began the difficult journey of bringing the man to where he would be discovered; kidnapping ninety pound divas was easy, but moving the dead bulk of a full grown, overweight man was another matter entirely. He was a strong man himself though, and with a bit of effort managed to carry the hulk up the catwalk where a different rope was placed around the man's neck (for the Punjab was far too valuable a weapon to be left in the care of a dead idiot). With a satisfied smirk, Erik pushed the poor dolt over the edge of the catwalk where he stopped just short of the stage with a sickening snap.

Instant gratification! What a sight it must have been, a man whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time hanging dead from the catwalk. If there had been any life in him before there certainly wasn't now. The Opera Ghost's eyes flashed wickedly as a man immediately shouted below him, and the sweet sound of a woman's scream pierced the air.

"He's back! Oh God, somebody fetch the managers, and quickly!"

Finally the world had realized the Opera Ghost had not died, and that he was as dangerous as ever. The screams echoed and grew as the story spread through the Opera like a wildfire. The managers had been brought, and realizing their worst fears had come true began immediately barking orders.

"Alright everyone, settle down. Someone, take him down from there…" Richard Firmin's orders were obeyed immediately and he continued in a voice that was nearly on the verge of breaking. "Now, did anyone here see anything?"

One of the men groaned and rolled his eyes. "Of course not! He's a God damned Ghost!" This only seemed to increase the panic among the superstitious workers, a thing the Opera Ghost's ego was feasting on as he observed silently from above

Quite satisfied with himself, Erik turned from the scene to one of the many trapdoors leading to his home by the underground lake to compose his ultimatum. Just then a faint sound reached his ears, ringing faintly but sweetly over the sounds of barely contained chaos below.

The Summoning of Angels. The Opera Ghost straightened instinctively. Had she returned? Had that treacherous snake returned to her master? No other knew his summon, unless Christine had further betrayed him.

Several emotions, most negative and bordering on rage, compelled Erik to investigate. Echoes were easy to locate in an Opera house when one knew how to look, and once his ears had tracked the location of the sound he could hardly believe his eyes.

Inside his box; HIS box, Erik seethed; a young woman in the strangest manner of dress was peering over the railing looking quite as surprised as the people in the theatre below.

"What the Hell..?" he breathed, deciding to wait in the shadows a bit and continue his investigation. A letter of demands could wait, and as he knew the managers were awaiting one, the suspense might actually help see his needs were properly seen to


	2. Chapter 2

Paris, France – 1882

Once the body was pulled down from the catwalks and properly seen to, the panic in the theatre subsided considerably, but the air remained thick as water. The tension was palpable as everyone waited impatiently for a list of the Opera Ghosts demands. Erik felt no unease at letting the tension linger. There were far more curious matters at hand.

Quickly he made his way through the walls of the opera house towards his box in the Grand Tier. The girl had looked too frightened, too foreign to have wandered far in the moments it took for Erik ascend through the walls into one of the seemingly solid columns decorating the tier. It was from there he threw his voice to the back corner of the box, so that its other occupant was sure to be the only person to hear.

"Who dares to enter Box Five unaccompanied?" Commanded the disembodied voice in a melodic tone of authority that nearly caused Aminta to answer it directly. That is, before she fully registered that the voice had no apparent owner.

"…This is it. I've finally snapped." She rubbed her face and took a deep breath. "Pull yourself together, Ammie."

The voice was sharper this time, and somehow closer to where Aminta had slumped into the safety of one of the chairs. It was also now in English; had it been in French before..? "I said, what is your name woman? Why are you in my box?"

This was no hallucination, Aminta realized. Somehow, that discovery was more terrifying than the idea of going mad. She did not take well to orders, however, and her natural drive to push back overwhelmed her fear. "Who the hell are _you_, going around trying to scare people after somebody's been killed? And what do you mean _your_ box, I have as much a right to be here as anybody. More of a right, even, my father reserved it for me for tonight's performance –"

The voice interrupted her, "You will answer me or you will hang from the railing as Monsieur DuBois hung from the stage."

There was only a moment's hesitation before Aminta decided that the voice was deathly serious. "My name's Aminta Mendelssohn. My father is David Mendelssohn, one of the patrons here." She added this last statement in hopes her father's standing at the opera would somehow dissuade the voice from trying to do her any harm... not that it could, she realized. It was only a voice, what could it do? This thought renewed Aminta's bravery. "Now _you_ answer _me._ Who are you, more importantly where are you, and why do you care who I am?"

Erik was shocked by the girl's demand, but did not answer her directly. "You are from America, are you not? Poor child, you were not warned."

"From Manhattan, yeah. Is it really that obvious?" She sneared. Aminta knew the French peoples' distaste of Americans, but was annoyed at the patronizing tone the voice had taken. "And I'm not a child. What should I have been warned of?" She was standing now, attempting to locate the source of the voice

"You do not speak the Queen's English; your voice is really quite atrocious actually. America was a natural conclusion. Nobody has told you this building is haunted." There was clear amusing in the voice, and it now spoke from directly next to Aminta, nearly causing her to jump.

"This isn't funny you know," She scolded the voice with her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. "Really, who is this? Why are you doing this?"

"Why child. You are addressing the Opera Ghost."

"Ha-ha" Aminta spoke rather than laughed, though there was a smugness in her voice that was unmistakable. "The Opera Ghost doesn't exist. You're pulling this trick on the wrong girl."

"I don't exist? Well, that is certainly news to me. What makes you think I don't exist?" There was that patronizing tone again. It sent Aminta straight on edge.

"For one thing, the Phantom of the Opera is a work of _fiction_, not a news article. For another thing, say it _were_ true like some people say, the Opera Ghost would be –" She paused to crunch numbers in her head briefly "something like a hundred and seventy years old by now. "More like a hundred and thirty years dead, I'd say."

Gone was the patronizing tone. It was replaced with one of indignant curiosity. "What do you mean? The Opera itself isn't hardly that old. It wasn't completed until 1875."

"You say that like it's not already the twenty first century. Jesus, and I thought _I_ was the one going crazy, sitting here talking to a voice…"

"Don't dismiss the thought so soon, woman. The year is 1882. There is still quite a ways to go until the twenty first century."

Aminta laughed starkly. "Ha! Bullshit. This is getting ridiculous, I'm out of here. _Swell_, talking to you, Erik."

Rage flared in the voice, and it quickly filled the whole of the theatre. "How do you know my name?" Barked the voice. "Tell me!"

Aminta puffed her chest some, looking far braver than she felt. "You said you were the Opera Ghost. Anyone who's read the book knows his real name is Erik…"

Erik fell upon the girl like a bat out of hell, having moved long ago from the column to a space in the wall with a trick door. Before she knew what had hit her she was unconscious, a rag soaked in chloroform covering her nose and mouth as her body fell limp back into the arms of her attacker. Before anyone dared to enter Box Five to inquire on the source of the booming voice, both the Opera Ghost and his victim were gone.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks to those of you who are now following my story! This chapter's shorter than the last one. Unless I get any requests to lengthen them they'll all be about this length from now on. I'll try and post a chapter every few days, but I make no promises; I'm a very busy student and finals are coming up! I hope to have the whole story finished by Christmas, New Years at the latest since I have a nice block of time for winter break. Feedback is very much appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik did not drown the girl as he had originally intended. After dragging his victim down through the bowels of the Opera Garnier and rowing to the deepest part of the underground lake, he had been just about to drug the girl into an unwakable stupor and push her overboard when he caught sight of something curious within her bag. A gloved hand reached into the bag which had somehow managed to stay on the American's person, snuggly strapped around her shoulder and over her chest. Out came a well worn leather book, the words "The Phantom of the Opera" printed plainly on the front.

Slipping the glove off his hand, Erik traced the print on the cover before gingerly opening what he desperately hoped was some sort of elaborate hoax. The pages were smoother than he had ever felt, the print neat and tidy. Surely a book in this condition must have cost quite a bit of money. He searched the novel for information on its author and printer, anything he could use to prove to himself this could not be real. It didn't take long to find; On the second page, hidden just behind the title page, was everything he was looking for and more. The novel had a French-sounding author, an American publisher… and publishing date that could not be possible.

1957. Surely his eyes deceived him. Erik was a brilliant man, open to the possibility of the strange and bizarre, but this… a book could not have been published seventy years into the future. It simply was not possible. Perhaps it was a misprint, or a hoax after all. But if it was a hoax, what was the motive? What did the girl stand to gain? Was she hired by someone perhaps? Surely she was not a figure he had scorned in the past; he had been cursed with an inexhaustible memory, unable to forget a single thing he had experienced since birth no matter how hard he may try.

Because of this accidental discovery, Erik decided to let the girl live. Replacing the glove, he slipped the book into his cloak and continued rowing. Before long, the lake ended in a smooth stone wall that seemed to stretch on for miles. Standing as the boat approached the wall, Erik deliberately touched a spot on the wall that seemed like every other, and suddenly a man-sized opening appeared in the once solid stone.

Erik picked up the feather-light girl and carried her inside over his shoulder, depositing her gracelessly in mirrored hell he had built during the construction of the Opera to protect his home. He left the torture chamber dark; his goal was merely to contain her, not to torment her. Not yet, anyway.

Once the girl was secured, Erik lit a fire and moved fluidly to the large chair nearest the flames. A lithe feline with a diamond studded collar leaped gracefully onto the back of the chair to greet her master. "My sweet Ayesha," he crooned in a voice at regal and melodic. "I apologize for the unexpected delay." The pointed cat purred contentedly in forgiving response and curled up to keep her master company as he withdrew the novel from his cloak to read.

* * *

A throbbing head and impenetrable darkness were the first things Aminta sensed upon waking. Her memory was foggy; she had been talking to The Voice, but what had happened then? She groped about for her satchel, reaching inside for her cell phone. She had the sneaking suspicion it would have no signal, but at the very least she could use it as a source of light. At last she found it, whipping the thing open and smashing the keys to illuminate the room.

Suddenly the room was filled with a hundred of her, and a hundred of something far more terrifying. In the center of the room stood a tree made of brass, and from one of its branches hung a noose. The tree was reflected by the mirrors around it, creating an eerily massive forest fit to hang scores of men.

"You have got to be shitting me…" She murmured. "This can't be real. It was just a story."

"Just a story?" Boomed The Voice. "I should say not. This is very real. Here, let me show you." Suddenly the room burst to life as the lights flashed on and the sound of a lone hawk crying pierced the air. Almost instantly the room began to warm and Aminta's eyes widened.

"No no, that's really not necessary. I believe you. I think you're out of your fucking mind, but I believe you."

The Voice chuckled, with only the slightest twinge of insanity. "I thought you might say that. Now," there was only the slightest pause as a leather bound book fell from somewhere unseen into the mirrored room. "Where did you get this?"

"Why don't you let me out of here and we can discuss this like adults, huh?"

"Do you really think you have any power here at all, girl? Even after all that has happened? How do you think you came to be here? Certainly not by your own will." The Voice was oddly patient. Erik was far too intrigued by the girl and her book to lose himself so soon. "Answer me. Where did you get this?"

Aminta crossed her arms and stood firm. "First you call me a child, then a woman, now a girl? Make up your mind. Better yet, I told you my name; use it. You're not getting anything out of me until you start treating me like a human being." She knew very well that if whoever was toying with her wanted her dead, he probably would have killed her in that period of time she had lost being taken here. That meant she had something he wanted, and she was not about to let that opportunity go to waste.

This infuriated Erik, but as Aminta had guessed his curiosity still outweighed his drive to kill. Suddenly the lights went dark inside the forest, and one of the mirrors slid back into its neighbor to reveal a beautifully furnished room.

Aminta stepped through into the light and stretched some; in spite of the illusion of being in a forest, the mirrored room had been oddly claustrophobic. She looked around, intrigued by the beauty of the room so close to such an awful place. It was very plain, but somehow stunning in its innocence. It was as if a child had built it with grace beyond his years. Walking into the room, she gingerly touched a carved wooden box on the mantle.

"Be careful with what you touch, here. Hardly anything here is as it seems." Aminta whirled around as The Voice spoke from behind her, and was surprised to find that this time it had an owner. Where she had entered the room from the forest stood a tall, lean man clad all in black; that is, except for the white porcelain mask which covered the whole of his face and the small patch of nearly translucent skin lined with a swollen bottom lip.

The white of the mask seemed to glow in the light in stark contrast with the black of Erik's suit and the matte paleness of his chin. This in combination with his naturally cat-like regality made him a very imposing figure in spite of how lean he was, even Aminta had to admit. Leroux didn't do him justice, she thought to herself, though she couldn't think of a better way to describe him herself than as Death incarnate. Someone so thin should not be standing, she thought, though standing he was and she had no doubt of his strength. Whether this was a copycat or the real Opera Ghost, Aminta suddenly sensed she had better at least attempt to keep herself in check. She still held the ace, but that could change at any moment.

"Mademoiselle Mendelssohn. Is this more suited to your tastes?" Inquired the figure with a barely-hidden annoyance to his voice. While his face could not be seen his every emotion could be registered just by his choice of word and intonation, she realized. For some reason this thought felt familiar; who else did she know like that, she wondered? The memory was faint, rather like the sense of déjà vu.

"Much, thank you Erik." She smiled sickeningly sweetly as the rage began to show itself in how her captor held himself. His shoulders had tense noticeably, and the bit of his lip that could be seen was now pursed. "Now, what is it you wanted to know?"


	4. Chapter 4

It was immensely difficult for Erik to keep control over his temper, so in spite of the fact he was tensed like a wildcat ready to spring he was privately proud of himself for having let her live this long. For the past year he had been a wreck, a shadow of his former glory thanks to a girl quite the opposite of the one who stood in front of him. Perhaps it was this polarity that kept him from tearing the girl to shreds, he mused silently. If she were more like Christine, more meek and subversive, the anguish Erik felt over her betrayal might cause him to lose whatever control over himself he still possessed.

"Where did you get that book?" He demanded, forcing himself to release the tension in his shoulders and back to regain a more carelessly regal posture.

"My mother gave it to me when I graduated high school. She used to read it to me when I was growing up. Her mother had given it to her when she graduated, I guess she wanted to continue the tradition." Aminta shrugged carelessly and moved to sit on the four post bed. If she knew how dangerous the man in front of her was, she certainly didn't show it. Quietly though she was wondering if her pepper spray had fallen out of her bag – just in case.

"Now it's time for me to ask _you_ a question." She added, pleasantly. This annoyed Erik to no end, but in spite of the clenching of his jaw he gestured for her to continue. "Why did you bring me here? Couldn't we have had this conversation up in Box Five like normal people? Where are we anyway?"

Erik folded his arms crossly. "I do believe that was three questions, Mademoiselle Mendelssohn." He chimed with a sneer in his voice. "Where we are is of no importance, as you would never be able to find it again anyway. Considering you've clearly read the book I found in your bag, I believe you already know where you are as it is. I didn't plan to bring you here, I had meant to drown you before ever getting this far. As for why we couldn't have continued our conversation up above… you know my name. It was too dangerous to leave you up there."

The casual air in the man's voice made it quite clear that he had not been joking about meaning to kill her, which took a bit of the spring out of Aminta's mood. Maybe she didn't hold as many cards as she thought… "Fair enough, your turn."

"Who sent you here? Was it the Daroga, or the Vicomte de Changy perhaps? I refuse to believe that you and the book in your bag are anything but an elaborate hoax. I will advise you now to speak honestly, I will know if you are not." Erik chimed with a certainty that made Aminta the slightest bit nervous of what would happen if he did not like her answer.

"Nobody sent me. I was supposed to visit with my father, but he was too busy so I left without him. The bag was my carry on the plane, it was a long flight into Paris so I brought my favorite book-"

The man cut her off, somehow radiating a look of triumph in spite of the fact his face could not be seen. "You are lying. You mentioned earlier you are from New York. It is impossible to fly across the Atlantic, the best areal devices glide hardly scores of feet. Even supposing you _flew_ on a Zepplin, there isn't one available to public use even in America."

Aminta looked angry for a moment, and then as if she were going to be sick. "I… Oh my God you're really serious aren't you? I thought maybe you were just… I don't know, trying to play some sick trick on me or something." This was the most vulnerable she'd appeared since Erik had first seen her wide eyed on the balcony. For some reason her vulnerability didn't trigger repressed anguish and rage in him like had had theorized it might; on the contrary, her sudden honesty was almost endearing. Aminta took a breath to steady herself before asking her next question, almost as if she didn't want to know the answer. "What… What year is it?"

Yellow eyes stared at her from under the mask in a way that he had been stared at himself so many times. The book and the girl's queer dress were no longer the only oddities about her. "It's September, 1882." An answer he wouldn't know himself if he hadn't ventured out several days ago for supplies and caught sight of a newspaper. He vanished a moment, returning before long with the paper and tossing it to her on the bed as if to validate his answer.

Aminta reeled and held her hand over her mouth trying hard not to get sick. "Eighteen eighty… So this is really… and _you're_ really..?" She had thought she had come to grips with the idea that this was real and not some sort of mental collapse, but suddenly now it was hitting her like a sack of bricks. This was very real. Somehow when she had stepped into the Opera House it had been 2002… And now she was suddenly one hundred and twenty years in the past. How had this happened?

The raw shock and awe the girl was showing was proof enough to Erik that, at least as far as she herself knew, Aminta was telling the truth. She truly believed she had flown to Paris, and that her mother had given her a book not printed for seventy someodd years. This relieved Erik considerably; at least the appearance of the girl was not the start of some new trouble by the Daroga or by his former enemy. Erik decided then that he would allow the girl to live. Though he was sure she was mad as a hatter, she had committed no crimes worth dying for. Not yet at any rate. However, she could not be allowed to wander around France of her own accord; she knew far too much now for him to allow such a thing.

"You will stay here for one month, working for me. If after that you have not regained your sanity, I am taking you to the asylum with the other lunatics." Erik stated his terms matter of factly, and Aminta's eyes narrowed.

"I am _not_ crazy! I'm… I don't know what's going on, but you can't just throw me in some Victorian asylum. Do you know what they did to people in those places?"

"I know quite well what they _do_ to people in "those places". I've spent the majority of my adult life avoiding them myself. I will not kill you without provocation, though I am sure you will not be missed. Rest assured, however, I _will_ kill you without a second thought if you continue to try my patience like you have tonight." Flawlessly, Erik switched to his native tongue. He had gotten the knowledge he wanted from the girl and no longer felt the need to accommodate to her eccentric accent. "As of now, you are a servant in my household, and you will do as I command. You have no power here, am I understood?"

Aminta nodded silently, jaw set stubbornly though she didn't dare challenge him again. If this man was anything like the monster she had read about in her book she knew better than to push him right now. Pick your battles, they say.

"Good. There is a trunk of women's clothing under the bed. Most of it is destroyed, but it will do for now. I'll trade some of your belongings for a more appropriate wardrobe in the morning. Your door will be locked from the outside from the hours of ten pm to six am, and I suggest you lock it from the inside as well. Dinner is to be on the table at seven daily, and the house is to be kept tidy. During the day you may go anywhere except into the forest and into my bedroom. Am I clear?"

Again she nodded, silently grateful for insisting on taking French in college even when her mother had pushed her to take Spanish. This was going to be a long month…

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks to those of you who've favorited and started following the story! It's mostly character development right now but stick with me - it'll pick up fast before long.


	5. Chapter 5

Five days into her captivity, Aminta was ready to bash her head into a wall. This man was absolutely impossible to deal with! He wanted her to cook, but he hardly ever ate. When he did, nothing she prepared was ever good enough. This wasn't a particularly hard blow to her ego since the most complicated recipe she knew was boiling an egg, but if he could do so much better why didn't he just cook for himself? He had wanted her to clean, but the building was immaculate. There was hardly any dust, nothing was out of place, and she had been berated for alphabetizing the bookshelf. When he caught her reading or resting, he would call her lazy and demand she put herself to work and earn her keep. There was simply no way to win.

If it hadn't been for the hours Erik locked her inside the bedroom, Aminta wouldn't know whether the clock on the wall read the hour of night or day. Erik left seemingly arbitrarily, sometimes for hours on end, but always returned on time to lock her inside her room. Once while Erik was out, Aminta had attempted to pick the lock on what she assumed was his bedroom. The thin Siamese-type cat watched her with taunting eyes, seeming to know she would never be able to break the lock her master had built.

Aminta leaned in the doorway of the kitchen to address the ghost of a man seated at the table, writing laboriously in red ink. "Dinner will be ready in ten. I made a roast, smells good."

The masked figure didn't even look up from his task. "I won't be eating tonight, eat what you will and give the rest to Ayesha." He dipped his quill into the ink and resumed his script.

"No, of course you won't. It's been cooking all day, it's not burned, or raw, or over salted, or under salted, or the wrong cut of meat, but you're not hungry. Why do you have me cook if you're never going to eat or be happy with it huh?"

Again, Erik's attention remained focused on his writing. "I am a busy man, Mademoiselle."

"When exactly _do_ you eat? You can't eat here more than four or five times a week." Aminta demanded suddenly with her arms crossed as she stepped into the room in an attempt to command his attention.

"Whenever I am hungry. Now if you please, I am very busy at the moment." Angrily, Erik crumpled up the paper he had been working on and tossed it into the fire.

"…You're left handed." Aminta remarked, not quite realizing she'd said it aloud.

"I am not." Erik snapped, finally turning his attention to her. "What makes you say that?" He knew he was nothing close to holy, but left handedness was a mark of the devil; he was not quite ready to believe he had sunken so low.

"You just crumpled up that page with your left hand. You stroke Ayesha with your left hand too, I think. But you've been writing with your right hand."

"What is your point, Mademoiselle?" Erik demanded, leaning back in his chair.

"Writing might not be such a chore if you wrote with your dominant hand. I've seen some of your trash, it looks like I wrote it with my left hand. I'm right handed." Aminta added to emphasize her point. "Besides, you're an artist. They say most left handed people are artists."

"They say most left handed people are Satan worshipers." Erik pointed out.

"Like that makes such a difference? I've never seen you make an effort to worship anything. You make your living pretending to be Death. Plus decent handwriting is a lot more intimidating than something that looks like it could have been written by a five year old. Since I assume you're rewriting your letter of demands for the millionth time, intimidation would be a plus right? Besides, no one but me and the cat sees you write these things, if you're _that_ concerned about it."

Erik considered her words carefully, and after taking a moment to swallow his pride he decided the girl had a point. He had leaned toward left handedness when he was a boy, but his mother had beaten it out of him to the point where writing became the harshest of punishments she could have given him. Somehow his tendency to play instruments with a dominating left hand had passed by her unnoticed… perhaps he was simple meant to be left handed. No matter how he had tried to unlearn those years of religion and faith that had been forced up on him as a boy, no matter how often logic told him God was far more cruel than the Christians believed if He existed at all, Erik still feared the idea of Satan and Hell.

He was born with Death's face, had committed murder at an early age and countless times since then… left handedness was simply another one of many signs he was more a product of Satan's imagination than God's, he decided.

Taking the quill into his left hand, it immediately felt more comfortable. When he dipped it into the ink and wrote the first marks, the writing was still unstable and messy but already a marked improvement upon his previous works. It would take some practice, obviously, but there was no art Erik had yet to master when he set his mind to hit.

"No no, you're holding it wrong." Aminta scolded and ventured as close to him as she had yet dared, standing just over his left shoulder. She didn't dare touch him, but she gestured with her own hand. "See how it's bleeding on the paper like that? You need to turn the nib and hold it at a shallower angle. I wish I'd put a pen in my bag before I left the hotel, it's probably easier to start with that…"

Erik gave her an odd look, and she suddenly remembered he probably hadn't the slightest idea of what she was talking about. Who knew how long it would be before pens that held their own ink would be invented let alone in common circulation. She was suddenly glad she'd let her grandmother teach her calligraphy when she was a girl.

Aminta smiled and put a hand on her hip when he corrected his behavior, albeit begrudgingly. He was rewarded by a single smooth letter upon the page. "See? I'd take a letter written like that a lot more seriously than one written like a child." She moved away to pull the roast out of the oven, smiling to herself when it came out perfectly browned, juices in the pan mingling with the vegetables. It looked and smelled like heaven to a girl who hadn't had a proper meal in a week.

Watching her move into the kitchen, Erik was surprised by her odd behavior just then. He had spared her life, certainly, but he had been little more than cruel to her since she arrived. She had been drugged, kidnapped, and was now being held as a servant with the threat of being sent to an asylum when the month was out… yet she was showing him civility. Sure, her behavior was often sarcastic and biting, but just then she had shown her captor a side of her that bordered on kind. He cleared his writing from the table, setting it with two places well apart from one another.

"What are you doing?" Aminta asked when she heard the movement from the dining room. "I thought you said you weren't eating?"

"Are you going to serve the roast or not?" He demanded, pouring a generous helping of red wine into his glass, leaving the bottle on the table for her to serve herself. He took a seat in the chair at the head of the table and waited to be served.


	6. Chapter 6

The one act of civility shown by Aminta was the turning point in the relationship between her and her captor. One day he had been absolutely impossible, and the next he had shown her guarded civility in return. It would be wrong to say the situation between them was pleasant; Aminta made it clear daily she did not pleased about being held against her will, and Erik made it clear he didn't appreciate the sudden invasion of his solitude. But now Erik was eating more often and complaining less about Aminta's incompetence, and Aminta found herself with fewer and fewer reasons to step on his toes in rebellion.

No amount of civility would assuage Aminta's curiosity though. Throughout her life she had heard the story of the Phantom of the Opera countless times in countless ways, some versions more romanticized than the others. She found herself wondering how much of what she knew was actually true, and what was just a fairytale. The box she had touched on the mantle when she first arrived had vanished after that night; did it perhaps hold the scorpion or the grasshopper? Would one of them really detonate explosives hidden under the Opera? Was there really a lake somewhere outside these walls? There were no windows and no ambient noises beyond the quiet crackle of the fire Erik kept constantly lit, surely that meant the complex was underground.

Above everything else, Aminta was curious about her captor. He was real, that much she was sure about. His name was truly Erik; it was her knowledge of that which had gotten her abducted in the first place. Where did he come from, though? How did he get to such a state? None of the stories she had heard did much more than allude to his past, suggesting he had spent time in Persia or that he had been a magician. And were the deformities that forced him underground really so horrible?

One morning when Erik had gone out on an errand, Aminta decided to try and learn more about her captor. No part of the complex remained unexplored. Every book on the bookshelf was opened, though many were in languages Aminta was not familiar with. She was a native English speaker and fluent enough in French to get by, but these… they ranged from Latin to Hebrew, from Spanish to Farsi, even one or two that might have been Chinese. Could he really read all of these? Had he really been to all the places these languages stemmed from?

On the top of the bookshelf lay a worn leather violin case. Aminta removed it and sat with the case in her lap to open it gingerly. Inside was an old, worn looking violin with a finely strung bow. It had clearly been a beautiful instrument in its day; use more than neglect was clearly the cause for the wear. Aminta picked up the instrument and held it to her chin. Taking the bow in her right hand, she pulled the bow across the strings and began to play simple scales to test the instrument. The bow flowed like water over the strings, and the sound that poured forth was like nothing she had ever heard. Her eyes closed languidly as she continued to play, and the world began to vanish around her. She was immune to the glares of the Siamese cat in the doorway, to the stress of being so far from her home and time. She had just progressed to the minor keys when Erik returned, a fact which was lost upon Aminta as she played.

Suddenly the bow was snapped from her hands, startling Aminta from her solitude. The world was somehow even more real now than it had been before, as life came rushing back into focus. Quickly she wiped at her eyes and took a firm breath as the reality of her situation once again struck her. She fought the instinct to lash out in self defense, and won. "…I'm sorry. I was curious. It's not valuable is it? I didn't drop it or anything."

Erik took the violin from her hand, possessively. "No, it isn't valuable. Why on earth do you have it?" He demanded. If it wasn't valuable why was he so upset?

"I was dusting the top shelf and found it." Aminta lied. She knew Erik saw right through her, but she continued anyway. "I play a little, I wanted to try it. It's… a remarkable instrument. Who made it, do you know?"

"I did. Years ago. It's been with me a long time. You'd do well to keep away from what isn't yours." Erik's voice was threatening but Aminta sensed the threat was empty.

"_You_ made that? It's… perfection. Where did you learn to make violins?"

"That isn't any concern of yours... But thank you, I am quite pleased with how it turned out." Erik was too taken aback by the compliment to continue being angry. "I found some dresses that might fit you. If you're too big I can have them brought in." He handed her a parcel wrapped in simple brown paper.

"You didn't have to do that. I fixed the ones in the trunk, haven't you noticed? I've been wearing them just fine." She accepted the package anyway, glad for a change in wardrobe. While she had indeed repaired the tears in the dresses under the bed, they were far from comfortable and did not fit terribly well. Clearly their previous owner had been a twig.

"It won't do to have you appear in public in a second hand dresses with mediocre stitching. The managers will think you a pauper." Erik explained as he put the violin back in its case and returned it to its home atop the book shelf.

"…What do you mean appearing in public? You're letting me go?" Aminta asked, careful to mask her nerves. As much as she disliked the idea of being held captive, the idea of wandering the streets of Victorian Paris alone was absolutely terrifying.

"Nonsense." He dismissed with a wave, and continued as if it were obvious. "I am, however, letting you up into the Opera."

"…Okay Erik, I give up. What's your angle?"

"I am working on a new composition. I want you to be my eyes and ears up in the Opera House. I delivered my letter several days ago, but I have yet to receive payment. I want you to make sure my demands are being met, and report to me if they're not."

Aminta raised a brow. "How am I supposed to do that? 'Oh hi guys, don't mind me, I'm just here keeping an eye on you for the Opera Ghost'? And why should I anyway? You know what you're doing is a crime, right? That would make me an… I don't know, accessory to extortion or something like that."

"You're going to audition, of course. I've heard you humming to yourself, you have a decent enough voice to make it into the chorus. And if not I know a cellist you can replace in the orchestra. The man is so old he can hardly hold the bow anymore. I assume if you can handle a violin it won't be hard to transition you to a cello."

Aminta had not realized Erik had been listening to her; she only sang or hummed when she thought she was alone or being ignored. "What makes you think I can sing in an Opera? This isn't my turf at all. I'm used to show tunes, microphones… They're these things that amplify your voice, so people can hear you at the back of the house." She added, realizing Erik would have no idea what she was talking about. "I can't sing Opera."

"If that is the case, you'll play the cello and that will be that. But you will have more access to the management from the stage than from the orchestra pit, so that is where we will start." Erik's voice was worrying no-nonsense.

"Can't we just start with the cello idea? I actually have training in that." Aminta nearly begged. The idea of singing Opera in Paris, even just in the chorus, was an immensely intimidating one to a girl who had once been destined for off-stage Broadway productions.

"I have already put your name on the audition list for next Monday. You are welcome to my sheet music to prepare a song of your choice. Let me warn you now I will be extremely cross with you if you purposely do not do well. Understood?" Erik waited for Aminta's indignant nod before dismissing her to try her new dresses.


	7. Chapter 7

It started off so pleasantly. He leaned in to kiss her, almost shyly. Aminta's heart pounded as their lips touched, and her eyes slid closed. He touched her cheek and kisses her again, with more confidence this time. This time the kiss was returned. A smile fluttered on her lips as he leaned in to kiss her again and rested a hand on her thigh.

Slowly that hand began to wander. First squeezed her thigh, then move up her body urging her to lay back. She resisted, shaking her head and kissing him this time. He returned the gesture, and continued to urge her to lay down. The hand on her stomach groped at her breast greedily as his kisses moved down to her neck. Gone was the shyness and innocence of the moment.

Aminta tried to push him away, but couldn't. The more she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, the tighter he held her and the harder he kissed her. This wasn't fun anymore. Managing to wretch one of her arms free, she slapped him hard. He grabbed her wrist and slapped her with his free hand so hard Aminta saw stars. "Stupid bitch…" He mumbled, rubbing his face where she had slapped him while her head still reeled. He grabbed her again, forcing her down while she was still dazed.

Suddenly she returned to her senses and screamed in panic and fear. This was met with another slap and a hand pressed so hard against her mouth she could taste blood. She struggled as hard as she could, kicking and screaming as her attacker used his free hand to push up her skirt and unzip his fly.

Suddenly the world swam out of focus, and a different dark figure was lingering over her. She clawed and screamed at it, tears running down her face. Suddenly she was being restrained again, which only made her fight harder.

"Mademoiselle! Aminta. _Stop_." Commanded a voice so strong Aminta couldn't help but obey. As she did, the force that restrained her was released. "Breathe, there's a good girl." A glass was forced into her hand and the voice commanded her to drink.

She did, whole body shaking. As the brandy touched her lips she hardly noticed the burn of the liquor. No matter how hard she tried she could not stop the tears that were now flowing down her cheeks.

Erik took the glass from her hand when it was emptied. "Calm yourself, it was only a dream. I thought I told you to lock your door from the inside." He reprimanded gently. "I shouldn't have been able to get in."

"I… I'm glad you were. Thank you." Aminta whispered and sat up, hugging her legs to herself feeling suddenly embarrassed and exposed. "I'm sorry. It was so real… I didn't hurt you did I?"

"I don't think that's possible, Mademoiselle." Erik remarked, amused. "Though I must admit, you're strong for your size. A nightmare I take it?" He inquired, trying not to sound too curious. The girl was normally stoic and stubborn to a fault. Whatever had reduced her to such hysterics could not have been small.

There was considerable hesitation in Aminta's voice when she finally found it. "… Sort of. Yeah, I guess it is. It's this… recurring dream I've had since I was sixteen." When I was almost raped, she wanted so desperately to add, but pride wouldn't allow her.

Erik nodded, sensing her desire not to push the subject. "Brought on by stress, I would imagine. Your audition is in six hours. Screaming like that probably ruined your chances…"He noted, refilling her glass with water from the elaborate bathroom attached to the room and handing it to her.

"Fine by me. I'd still rather play cello." She insisted, but accepted the water and drank deeply from it.

"You will audition. I have a pot of tea on already, you'll rest your voice for an hour and then we will practice. I'm interested to hear what song you've chosen as it is."

Aminta had been careful only to practice when Erik was out running errands or whatever it was he did when he left the house by the underground lake. She was a theatre major, sure, but had been much more interested Shakespeare than singing. She had a decent enough voice to earn her high marks in her musical theatre courses and parts in shows at NYU, but she knew she was nothing extraordinary. Opera… Opera was another beast entirely. Musical theatre became less and less operatic as the years progressed, which she enjoyed immensely. She could belt, sure, but so much of musical theatre was practically speaking melodically it was nothing near as demanding as she imagined Opera to be. She had lost her voice for a week performing RENT, which while it was a "rock opera" which required two hours straight of singing was nothing like the four hours or so of Figaro she had seen at the MET the year before.

"Yeah, okay. I'm not going to be able to sleep again, let me change and I'll be right out."

Erik slipped out, closing the door behind him and putting another log on the fire. He sat the small piano, sorting through his sheet music for something to amuse himself with while he waited for her voice to recover. He was a harsh judge of talent, especially when it came to music, but he remembered the sweetness of the voice he had heard the day he had discovered Aminta in his box. How long ago had that been? He made a note to himself to check the paper the next time he went to the market.

After what must have been six or seven cups of a strange herbal tea she had never tasted before and after berating her for so much as whispering protest to another cup, Erik finally allowed Aminta to stand by the piano in preparation to sing. He was appalled by what he saw, and could not help but show it in his posture and voice.

"Straighten up, you look as if your back were made of string. Shoulders back. No, no, weren't you ever taught to stand properly?" Erik stood from the piano bench and moved behind her, grabbing her shoulders and roughly pulling them back to a more balanced position. This simple change aligned the rest of her body more to his liking. "Better." He praised when she glared at him wordlessly. It was painfully obvious how many rude things she wanted to call him at that moment, but Erik spoke again before she could manage.

"'Ah', C major." He commanded, not giving her much time at all before his fingers began to flow across the keys. Aminta sang as she was told, doing simple scales and going progressively higher in key with each pass. She couldn't tell if Erik was pleased with her performance or not, which annoyed her more than she understood. Only a few hours before her audition, she was nervous and had no way to judge her performance in this world. If she were horrible he should say so.

Erik was surprised by her voice, to say the least. It was rough around the edges, there was no denying that. She had been improperly trained and it would take some time to correct what she had learned previously, but there was a sweetness to her voice he had not expected from a girl who was often so crass. She did not possess the same innocence as Christine Daae had; on the contrary, even as Aminta sang simple scales her voice conveyed a certain sense of maturity beyond her years. This girl had known suffering, that much was clear, but it certainly had not destroyed her spirit.

Looking at the clock after what must have been the hundredth scale, Aminta rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ Erik we've been doing runs for forty five minutes, I'm plenty warmed up."

"Fine. Where is the song you chose?" Aminta moves to the bookcase and pulled out the sheet music she had been using to practice and handed it over to him matter-of-factly, curious as to what he would think of her song choice.

"Ruhe Sanft? I'm surprised you know of it." Erik commented curiously, handing back the sheet music. He had committed almost every work of Mozart's to memory at an early age.

"I hadn't, that's why I picked it. I saw it was written by Mozart but I'd never heard of it."

"A rescue Opera called Zaide. He started it a good two years before Abduction at the Seraglio was commissioned but never finished. Watch your shoulders." He scorned.

Aminta rolled her eyes some but squared her shoulders. "So the character is some damsel in distress? Swell. Too late to change my mind now huh?"

"On the contrary; In Zaide, the heroine rescues the hero." Before Aminta could express her pleasant surprise, Erik had begun to play the introduction and Aminta began to sing.

"_Ruhe sanft, mein holdes Leben,__  
__schlafe, bis dein Glück erwacht;__  
__da, mein Bild will ich dir geben,__  
__schau, wie freundlich es dir lacht:__  
__Ihr süssen Träume, wiegt ihn ein,__  
__und lasset seinem Wunsch am Ende__  
__die wollustreichen Gegenstände__  
__zu reifer Wirklichkeit gedeihn.__"_

Erik played the song in its entirety before nodding, not revealing his delight at her interpretation of the piece. "Again, from the beginning. Mind your shoulders."


	8. Chapter 8

"Mademoiselle Aminta Mendelssohn." Chimed the conductor pleasantly. Armand Moncharmin turned to his fellow manager with a raised brow.

Firmin Richard had read his mind. "What a curious name. Spanish perhaps?"

"With a surname "Mendelssohn"? Unlikely. I haven't heard of her before, have you?"

"No, I haven't. Perhaps she's new to town." Firmin suggested, earning a nod from Armand.

Aminta walked to the center of the stage in one of her new gowns, looking like a model Victorian artist but feeling extremely exposed in spite of the layers of fabric. Erik had tied her corset loosely so she could breathe, but her breasts were still lifted far more than she was used to which certainly didn't help to ease her anxiety.

"Do we have your music Mademoiselle Mendelssohn?" The conductor asked, flipping through pages of sheet music.

"Yes. Ruhe Sanft, Mein Holdes Leben, from Zaide." Announced Aminta, who was proud that her voice had not shaken. Would they notice her strange accent? Her rather unladylike gait? She felt as though her foreignness were painted upon her forehead.

From his place at the grand piano, the conductor began to play the accompaniment to the aria. Closing her eyes to block out the room, Aminta opened her mouth to sing.

She and Erik had practiced up until the final hour before the audition, going over the aria countless times. He would correct her breathing, her phrasing, pronunciation of the strange German language. He translated it to English for her so that she could convey the proper emotions through her body and voice. In the short time before the audition Aminta had improved remarkably. Erik had a hard time convincing her that she would be heard from across the house because of the acoustics, and that she need not strain her voice so, but it was a hard habit to break. Aminta was used to having a microphone, and used to belting to be heard without one. She trusted Erik though, and fought her every instinct to shout out the libretto.

"_Ruhe sanft, mein holdes Leben,__  
__schlafe, bis dein Glück erwacht!__  
__da, mein Bild will ich dir geben,__  
__schau, wie freundlich es dir lacht:__  
__Ihr süßen Träume, wiegt ihn ein,__  
__und lasset seinem Wunsch am Ende__  
__die wollustreichen Gegenstände__  
__zu reifer Wirklichkeit gedeihn"_

The song was short and sweet, very poetic. Zaide was a young slave who was madly in love with another slave named Gomatz, Erik had informed her. The Sultan she served grew extremely jealous, and held her captive. Rather than marry the Sultan and live a good life, Zaide chooses to remain with Gomatz who she loved. During the aria, Zaide decides to leave a picture of herself next to the sleeping Gomatz and wishes him sweet dreams.

Aminta found herself liking the character of Zaide, and found it easy to attach herself to the aria. It was a romantic story, and while Aminta would never admit it outloud she was certainly a romantic at heart. She had no desire to marry, no particular want for children or a house with a white picket fence, but for some reason the story of a woman choosing love over wealth and prosperity in spite of the possible repercussions struck a chord with her.

Armand and Firmin looked at one another as the girl sang, both thinking the same thought. The girl was talented. Remarkably talented, actually. Awkward to watch and with a strange accent, undoubtedly, but her voice was rich and sweet. Now what other time had a young woman come out of the woodworks with a remarkable voice…

The managers applauded politely when the aria was finished, and Aminta gave an uncomfortable little curtsy. As she turned to leave, Armand spoke. "Mademoiselle, a moment if you please. You are new to Paris, yes?"

Aminta turned back to address the gentlemen in the audience. "Yes, Monsieur. I'm from America."

It was Firmin who spoke this time. "And you trained in America, did you?"

"I… More or less. My landlord has been continuing my training." Thank goodness Erik had warned her they might question her.

"I see. Who may I ask is your landlord?"

"I'm afraid you wouldn't know him. He's a friend of my father's, also from America."

"And what brings you to the Palais Garnier all the way from America?" Armand asked in conclusion.

"Even in America little girls dream of singing Opera in Paris, Messieurs." Aminta smiled charmingly. Thank God for her that improvisation class, she thought to herself.

The managers both seemed pleased with her answers, and dismissed her with a smile. Aminta walked off stage and back out the front doors of the Opera onto the brisk Parisian streets. Retracing her steps, she found herself at one of the many entrances to the catacombs of Paris. Wrapping her arms around her body for warmth, Aminta waited for a hooded figure to emerge from the darkness.

"Well done." Praised Erik, a rarity. Aminta couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.

"You think so? God I was so nervous… Was I okay, really?" She was glad for someone to share her nerves and excitement with.

Erik chuckled some as he let Aminta take his arm to guide her through the pitch black. "You have some places you can improve, but considering how raw you started this morning I thought you did very well."

"We should go out for drinks or something to celebrate, don't you think? I know, _you_ can make _me_ dinner tonight, how does that sound?" Aminta grinned up at the tall masked figure.

Erik was surprised by her candor. She was giddy as a schoolgirl, to be sure, but she was treating him like an age old friend rather than the man who was keeping her as a servant in his household. He found himself smiling, and not for the first time since she'd appeared in his Box just over a month ago. He decided to play with her a bit.

"Actually, you have another appointment to make today."

Aminta looked at him curiously. "I do? What am I doing now? Look I'll keep an eye on the Opera for you but I'm not going to be any more involved in your little extortion scheme than I already am."

"No, nothing like that. I've informed one of the physicians at the Asylum about you, you're to be interviewed today." Erik could hardly suppress his amusion at the look of terror on her face.

"…You are _such_ a prick, Erik! I've been working for you for a month, I worked my ass off to learn that song because you wanted eyes and ears up in the Opera, and now you're going to throw me out into an Asylum? I thought you said I sang well! What happened to working for you, huh?" In spite of the darkness Aminta let go of his arm and smacked it hard. Pride overruled her fear of the stifling darkness of the catacombs.

Just then, Erik did something remarkable; he laughed. Not some quiet, private chuckle, but a real, melodic, boyish laughter. Aminta put her hands on her hips indignantly.

"What's so funny, asshole?"

"You look ridiculous when you're angry, do you know that? Here take my arm or you'll wind up another skeleton in the wall." Erik guided her hand back to his arm and continued their walk through the catacombs.

"So you're not sending me to the Asylum?"

"Of course not, judging by your performance today you'll be cast as even more than just a chorus girl. You're far too valuable to throw out just yet."

Aminta smirked. "Awwww, Erik. I think that's probably one of the nicest things you've ever said to me."

"Don't press your luck, Mademoiselle."

"You wanna know what I think? I think you're starting to like having me around." Aminta goaded. "Admit it, I'm better company than that scrawny cat of yours."

"I'm going to tell Ayesha you said that. Watch your back tonight, she's vicious when she wants to be." Erik warned, ignoring her accusations.

Aminta smiled to herself, knowing she was right but that Erik was just too proud to admit it. Truthfully, she enjoyed his company too. Being a theatre major, it was rare for her to find somebody as intelligent as she was to debate with, and until she'd met Erik nobody she had come across had been able to best her wit. While he frustrated her to no end, Aminta privately enjoyed the stimulation. It was becoming more apparent to her that Erik felt the same.

Aminta continued down the passage with him, quiet for a while but with a bounce in her step. Finally she broke the silence brightly. "So, what are you making me for dinner?"

* * *

**Author's Note**: Yup that's right my friends, two chapters today... I'm hoping this means you won't be very mad at me if I don't get another chapter up for a few days. It's finals season for us student-folk. While I'd much rather be writing than studying my oh-so-beloved Organic Chemistry, alas I must eat, breathe, and generally live in my Ochem textbook for the next few days until I actually start to understand some of this stuff. I'll try and bust out chapters as alternatives to running headlong into traffic, though. XD


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** So, I've been sitting on this chapter since I started rewriting Crossworlds, and I decided to post it instead of starting something completely fresh. Even after editing it for a good half an hour or so it's still not completely where I want it to be, but it's better than nothing and gave me a good study break. I really like this whole "writing on my study breaks" thing, maybe it won't be so long between chapters after all.

* * *

The Countess! Aminta's first ever role in an Opera was as the Countess in Le Nozze di Figaro! She had been floored by the news. The principle soprano role of Susanna had been casted to the prima donna, but considering she had expected to see her name listed under the chorus she was stunned and thrilled to be playing second to the leading lady. Her excitement was quickly overcome by immense nervousness; November was nearly over and the Opera was to debut for its month long run on Christmas Day! Five weeks didn't seem like nearly enough time to prepare for such a feat.

Erik assured her he would have her prepared in time for her debut on the Parisian stage, and she believed him. Aminta was starting to believe there was nothing Erik couldn't do. She still knew next to nothing about his past, but what she did know never ceased to amaze her. He had crafted by hand one of the most wonderful sounding instruments she had ever heard. He presumably built the entire complex by the underground lake on his own. He managed to earn one of the loftiest salaries while rarely being seen. He could play the piano like a God, producing music the likes of which Aminta had never heard... The man was a composer, an architect, a businessman, a woodworker, and likely infinitely more all wrapped up into one very eccentric form.

The first snow had begun to fall by the time rehearsals started. Every day Erik would lead her out of the catacombs, and every day he would be waiting to take her back to the house by the underground lake once rehearsals had ended. Once they returned to the house Erik rehearse with her more, though he refused to sing along with her, instead playing the counterpoint melodies on the piano or violin as necessary. It was simply one of his many eccentricities; Erik refused to sing. She knew just by listening to him speak he had a wonderful voice and he certainly knew enough about singing to help her improve exponentially, but every time she would ask him to sing one of the male vocal parts of Figaro with her he would politely decline and seat himself at the piano instead.

Aminta wasn't sure if it was because she was away at the Opera so often, but it seemed to her that Erik was home much more than he used to be. After guiding her through scales and arias for over an hour, he would cook the most incredible meals for them to enjoy. He always set a plate for himself, but Aminta noticed he never ate it in its entirety. Some nights Erik hardly ate at all, which worried her considerably. Erik was already so thin, and though he was strong he couldn't possibly be the image of health if he was only eating a fraction of a meal a day.

Instead of leaving the house at nights, Erik was more and more frequently locking himself away in his room. Several times she had knocked and called to him for help with some note in an aria or to offer him tea, but he never once answered. She thought sometimes she could hear the crumpling of pages or the scraping of wood, but she could never be sure as muffled as every sound was through the bulk of the door.

On this night though, Erik had left the house just after supper "on business" and had left Aminta alone in the house. She took the opportunity to indulge in a long bath and a big glass of the fine red wine Erik kept in the kitchen. She closed her eyes to daydream, her thoughts falling on Erik more often than not. Privately she indulged in flights of fancy with the masked musician as the protagonist. She imagined what his life must have been like before he came to live under the Opera, how difficult it must have been. What were his deformities like, she wondered. Were they as bad as Gaston Leuroux had described them? They were probably worse, she decided; considering when the book was published he would have likely had to sensor it to avoid losing his readers. Aminta felt cruel just considering the idea… but at the same time she couldn't help but wonder. Morbid curiosity she supposed. As strange as it was to imagine what might be under the mask, it was even stranger that her thoughts kept reverting to romance. She was more curious what it would be like to be touched without gloves, or even to be kissed…

Just when she was about as relaxed as she had been since arriving in Paris, noise erupted from the other side of the wall and the faint chime of a bell sounded. These were not sounds Erik ever made, and she sat bolt upright in the sudden realization that she was not alone.

Bolting from the bath, she wrapped herself in one of the plush cotton robes Erik had bought for her before slipping out of the bathroom. The bell chimed again, and there was a muffled voice and pounding from somewhere nearby. Aminta followed the sound to the portion her room she had entered from the forest. Thank God, at least it wasn't an intruder into the house. For a moment Aminta feared Erik's hiding place had been discovered, and she hadn't dared to think about the consequences.

She placed an ear against the wall, listening for more sounds. She nearly jumped out of her skin as someone or something pounded just near her head. A muffled voice on the other side spoke a language she couldn't quite understand, but her curiosity was piqued when she thought she heard it use Erik's name. Erik had been livid when she had known it; did whoever was on the other side of the wall know Erik?

Making a snap decision, Aminta knocked on the wall in response to the voice and called back in French, figuring it was more likely the person would understand her that way than if she'd answered in English. "I'm sorry, I don't understand you. You know Erik?"

There was surprise and a sense of urgency in the voice when it responded in heavily accented French. "Yes! Yes, I know Erik. Let me out of here please, I need to speak with him."

"He isn't in right now, he left on an errand…"

"I don't know who I'm speaking with, but you must let me out of here. Don't you understand what this place is? I will surely go mad if you make me wait for his return." The muffled voice responded.

"…Okay fine, let me see if I can figure this out." Aminta searched the whole wall for some sign of a lever or seam that would indicate where the door was or how to open it. As afraid as she was to betray Erik's trust by letting a stranger into his home, she knew very well the mirrored room she had first woken up in was nothing short of a torture chamber, and that the muffled voice was not exaggerating when he suggested he would go mad.

She found the control completely on accident, and was not entirely sure she could replicate the gesture if she tried. Simply running her hands against the wall a small portion of it had buckled, and the wall slid out of place leaving a gaping opening to the mirrored forest on the other side. As soon as the wall slid opened the forest darkened and the bell ceased to chime. An Arabic looking man wearing rather strange clothing for Paris nearly ran into the room, before diverting his eyes from Aminta who was still in only her robe. "Mademoiselle, I'm so sorry…" He muttered uncomfortably in an accent Aminta now recognized as middle eastern.

"Right… sorry." To her, a thick full-length rob wasn't nearly "indecent", but considering she was wearing nothing under it and the man was very clearly uncomfortable she didn't object to changing. He slipped past her, eyes still diverted, to give her the room to change in.

Aminta joined him in the living room after only a few minutes. The dark man seemed just as confused about her as she was about him. He was clearly at a loss for words, and it was Aminta who spoke first. "So… you're the Persian I take it? The Daroga?"

The man blinked in surprise. "I… Yes, I am. Nadir Khan, at your service Mademoiselle. Erik has spoken to you of me?"

Aminta shook her head. "No, but I read about you in the- nevermind, it's a long story. Why are you here? Erik didn't say he was expecting you."

"He isn't," the Persian explained. "I've been writing him for over a year and he hasn't replied. I've come to make sure he hasn't done anything… rash." He spoke this last word with a scrutinizing look at her. Clearly he thought she was the trouble Erik may have gotten himself into. "Has he… are you well? If you need any assistance…"

"He's not dead if that's what you're afraid of. And I'm fine, thanks for asking." She remarked with sarcastic pleasantness, causing great confusion in the daroga.

"Forgive me if I'm upsetting you at all, Mademoiselle. It's simply that Erik doesn't take visitors well, and as long as I've known him a woman has never stayed with him" He hesitated for a moment before adding, "willingly".

She shrugged gently and moved to pour the man a glass of water. "It didn't start out willingly, but we're friends now." Aminta realized how that must have sounded like a textbook case of Stolkholm Syndrome to an outsider, but she couldn't think of how else to explain it.

Nadir looked at her curiously, afraid she was either crazy or lying. "You're a lovely young woman, Mademoiselle, and I know how Erik takes to lovely young woman. If you're sure you're not in any trouble…"

"I'm positive, I'm fine." Aminta promised with a reassuring smile. "Trust me, my circumstances are about as weird as his are. It's an odd arrangement, but so far we're making it work."

The Persian nodded. He couldn't help the girl if she didn't want to be helped. Besides, it was quite possible this girl was just as mad as his friend, who was just stepping into the house from the lake.

Erik rose to his full height imposingly, hanging up his cloak and sealing the entrance to the lake. "Daroga, what an unpleasant surprise. Aminta, a word?" He moved to the kitchen and Aminta followed reluctantly, knowing immediately she was in for a scolding.

"Why in God's name would you let a stranger in? How did he get in?" Erik demanded quietly enough not to be heard by the unwelcome guest just outside.

"He was in the forest. I couldn't just leave him there Erik. You might be willing to let people go crazy in there but I'm sure as hell not about to have that on my conscience. Besides, he's not a stranger he knows you." She added.

Erik groaned like an irritated child, clearly frustrated by arrival of the figure from his past. He stalked out of the kitchen past Aminta, not pressing the subject further.

"What is it you want from me, Daroga?"

The Persian folded his arms and shook his head. "After the state I left you in before? I wanted to make sure you were still alive Old Friend."

"Wanted to make sure I hadn't kidnapped any more beautiful women is more like it." Erik countered with a gesture to Aminta. She folded her arms crossly, annoyed at being treated like a mannequin rather than the person who had been living with him for two months. What was causing him to behave like such a child?

"…That too, I'll admit. She claims she is here willingly though, and I am willing to accept her answer."

Erik nodded, seeming pleased. "Good, then. If you're satisfied with what you've seen I will show you out."

Nadir bowed his head reluctantly and moved towards Erik, pausing briefly to hand Aminta a small card with an address on it. "In case you change your mind, Mademoiselle, please do not hesitate to call on me." Aminta accepted the card politely, tucking it away in her bodice. She didn't expect to ever need it, but she knew if there ever was trouble with Erik there was at least one person in Paris who she could go to for help.

Erik vanished again without another word to Aminta, and grumpily she returned to her bath. This time she daydreamed about all the rude things she would say to him when he returned.


	10. Chapter 10

Aminta was waiting up for Erik when he returned four hours after he left to escort the Persian out of the Parisian underground. He didn't even acknowledge her when he returned, though she was sitting crossly in his usual chair by the fire.

"Ah-hem?" She cleared her throat to gain his attention and succeeded.

"Get out of my chair." Commanded Erik wearily.

"You are _such_ an asshole you know that? That man was legitimately worried about you and you just kicked him out. You would have left him in the torture chamber all night, wouldn't you have?" Aminta demanded, folding her arms in a gesture that suggested she had no plans to obey.

"Don't speak about what you do not know. Get out of my chair." Aminta obeyed this time, moving behind the chair to continue harassing the masked man. Erik sat and closed his eyes.

"Where have you been for four hours, it should have only taken you two hours _max_ to take him out."

"I had errands to run."

"You didn't hurt him did you?" Aminta demanded frankly.

Erik stood and glared at Aminta, both angry and hurt at the accusation. He had thought she had more trust in him than this. "I did not hurt the Daroga, Aminta. He is a constant bother to me, but I could not possibly harm the man. If I wanted harm done to him I would have done it when he let my enemy into my home to steal the woman I loved." With that Erik stalked past her, moving into his room and slamming the door behind him.

Aminta stalked right after him and pounded the door before grabbing the handle to test it. To her immense surprise the handle gave way and the door swung open. She couldn't suppress an audible gasp at the sight she was met with.

The room was a mess. There was torn fabric and broken glass strewn all over the floor, and splintered coffin in the center of the room. Amidst the destruction were empty vials and needles, some broken and shattered, and others lined up full and neat on top of a small table. There was nowhere to sit but the floor, nearly every inch of which was covered in debris, and nowhere at all to sleep. There were crumpled up papers of what looked like musical compositions, as well as ink stains on the walls and floor where vials looked as if they had been thrown across the room. The only thing that seemed untouched was a full length mirror that hung on the wall, partially covered by a strip of torn fabric. It was such a stark contrast to the rest of the immaculately kept house that Aminta did not even notice Erik's enraged figure until he had struck her hard across the face.

"GET OUT!" He bellowed so loud she was certain all of Paris had heard. The sound was so angry and heartbroken Aminta could have wept. In typical fashion she bottled her pain, however, and lashed out against him, doing the only thing she knew she could do to hurt him.

In one swift, bitter motion, Aminta tore off Erik's mask.

Aminta had pictured this moment in her mind a hundred times a hundred different ways, but it was still nothing like she had imagined. His face was horrid, everything Leroux had said and worse. It truly was the face of a man born dead, with skin eerily pale and translucent it showed every blue vein pulsing beneath. There were open sores on his face from where the mask fit improperly. His eyes were so far sunk into his skull the only color that showed from this distance was the yellow reflection of the light, much like an animal's eyes shine in the dark. The wig upon his head and fallen when the mask was removed, showing wisps of thin brown hair where the top of his head was less deformed than his face. While his upper lip was grotesquely malformed, his lower lip remained familiarly full and well shaped. But perhaps the most startling thing about the man in front of Aminta was the vision of him breaking right before her eyes. Gone was the tall, powerful, commanding figure and present now was a pitiful, anguished gargoyle making every attempt to hide from the light he could find.

Before Aminta could even respond beyond shocked horror, she had fallen out of the room as the door slammed closed and locked behind her. She stood staring at the door, porcelain mask in hand, dumbstruck by what she had just seen. It was too much for her to take in all at once, and the normally stoic girl found herself walking on shaking legs to her room, locking the door behind her. There, she all but collapsed into bed and wept, clutching the mask to her chest.

She wept for herself, for the stress and strain of her new life in Paris. She wept for the friends and family she feared she would never see again. She wept the trust between herself and Erik which had just been shattered. She wept for the dear friend she knew she had lost in her moment of stupidity.

But more than anything, Aminta wept for Erik. She had never seen a man break so visibly before, and it shattered her. What horrors must he have gone through to be reduced from such a powerful man to one so small and afraid? She was angry at the world he lived in, where he was forced to wear a mask and keep people at a distance, fearing them as much as they feared him… though she knew in her heart her world would not be any different for him. Oh they would pretend not to care about his face; even she had diluted herself into thinking she would not be horrified. But she was. His face was wretched to look upon, and she hated herself for thinking that. She hated every woman who had ever entered his life, for she knew in her heart he had not been born this way. No, torture and torment had turned him into a man capable of extortion and murder. She had seen his brighter side, his smile and laugh and she knew that in his heart he was as normal as any other man, although brilliant and eccentric.

The sound of wood splintering and glass breaking from Erik's room could be heard from her own, and she sat up in bed clutching the mask in both hands. Looking down on it, she traced it outside and in, trying to learn its curves. Porcelain… it must have been worth a fortune in this day and age. It was beautifully made, too. The outside shone in the candlelight, and the inside was matte and still warm. She held it to her face, trying desperately to see the world from his eyes and failing. The mask didn't cut into her skin the way she was sure it his, the holes for her eyes didn't quite line up with the bridge of the nose. The smell of the thing was intoxicating, an exotic combination of blood, tea, and spices she had always imagined she smelt on Erik whenever he ventured close to her. It smelled how she imagined the Silk Road in China would smell…

She wasn't quite at what point during the night she fell asleep, but when she awoke again the noise from Erik's room had ceased. She sat up, still clutching the mask, and moved cautiously to the door. Moving out of her room, she found the main living quarters abandoned. Either Erik was out, or still in his room which by now must have been incomprehensibly shattered and torn. Deliberately she knocked on his door, trying to steady her nerves. She felt as if she were about to hand a piece of meat to a starving tiger, and was deathly afraid of being bit in the process.

There was movement inside, and Aminta knocked again. "Erik… Erik I know you're in there. Please come out." And please don't kill me, she thought to herself. "I have your mask…"

After a few moments the door opened the slightest crack and a gloved hand reached out expectantly. She was tempted to make him step out to get it, but decided not to push her luck and she placed the mask in his open hand.

Fluidly the hand retracted and the door closed and locked once more. Aminta sighed and rested her forehead on the door. "Look… I'm sorry. I wouldn't want to talk to me either. But you _hit_ me, what was I supposed to do? I think you owe me an apology too, you know."

The door flew open, and Aminta stumbled back. Erik stepped out of the room, tall and powerful once again… but there was something different about him now. Aminta couldn't place it for the life of her, but she know immediately she didn't like it.

"Erik owes you nothing." He spoke coldly, so much less melodically than how he usually addressed her… and he also spoke in the third person, which alarmed Aminta more than anything. "He has given you food, wine, a career, and place to live, which is far more than anyone deserves from him."

"…Erik, what's –"

He cut her off, grabbing her arm roughly and dragged her to the wall which opened up into the catacombs. Try as she might, Aminta could not pull herself free as he dragged her deliberately through the darkness.

"Let me _go_, Erik!" She commanded for what must have been the tenth time when finally he stopped.

"As you wish, Mademoiselle." Erik did let her go, and was suddenly absent in the darkness. Aminta froze and reached out, wheeling around in every direction looking for him. She yelped when he hand fell upon a damp wall made entirely of human bone. She was suddenly completely and utterly alone in the underground labyrinths of Paris.

Aminta had betrayed Erik's trust, and for that her punishment was death.


	11. Chapter 11

The Persian may have been thousands of miles from the land he called home and many years beyond the strapping young police chief he had once been, but he was still a Daroga through and through. Erik had led him out of the catacombs, refusing to answer a single question about the events of the past year. Nadir already knew he was responsible for the most recent murder at the Opera, and was more than a little curious as to why his list of demands was so moderate. No desire to control the Opera, no picking and choosing of the cast… simply a salary to be paid every month. This was highly unusual for Erik. He knew now the rumors of a star in the making at the Opera were probably true and that if the young woman living with Erik were the girl in question then the masked genius was certainly involved to some extent.

Erik's complete silence during the journey prompted a more forward examination by the daroga. He knew Erik would watch him until he rounded the corner, and so Nadir did just as Erik expected him to. He walked up the street and rounded a corner, waiting for a good minute or so before turning back to look for the figure in black… perhaps he had gone back down into the catacombs? But no, sure enough there was the familiar figure in black moving in the shadows down the opposite end of the street, away from Nadir. The daroga adjusted his coat to hide more of his face, and moved after the man.

What he saw disturbed him greatly. He waited outside while Erik slipped like a ghost into the local chemists'. Nadir could just see through the window the nervous looks of the pharmacist as he handed Erik a discrete brown paper bag, and no receipt. Erik in turn handed the man an envelope, and apparently without exchanging a word left the store just as suddenly as he had entered.

When Erik had vanished down the street, Nadir moved rapidly into the chemists'. A nervous looking older gentleman smiled falsely. "What can I do for you sir?"

"The man who was just in here. What did you give him?"

The pharmacist looked stunned, mouth gaping for a moment. "I… You saw him too?" He crossed himself weakly. "And here I thought he was a ghost... I'm not mad after all…"

Nadir looked impossibly annoyed. "Yes yes, I saw him too. Now what is it you're giving him? Has it been prescribed? Is he ill?"

"No, sir. He only asks for needles and some morphine. Sometimes he'll order cocaine, when I have extra. He only ever takes what I've over-ordered. Truth be told he's been coming so regularly I just order morphine for him now."

The daroga rubbed his face. Erik had dabbled in drugs in Persia, it had been foolish to expect him to remain clean in a city where anything can be bought and sold for the right price.

"You are not to give him any more without my permission." Nadir commanded, handing the pharmacist his entire purse. "I don't care what he offers to pay you, I will pay you more. If he threatens you, call the police. Am I understood?"

The pharmacist looked at the purse with his eyes wide and nodded. "Why yes, sir!"

The daroga nearly ran out of the building, hoping to catch sight of Erik again. Moving as fast as his aging legs would carry him, he slowed only when he caught sight of a tall dark figure slip into the catacombs just near the Opera. Taking a deep breath, knowing it could potentially be his last breath of fresh air for days, he followed Erik down into the darkness.

Listening carefully for the light sounds of Erik's footsteps, Nadir followed the Opera Ghost through the not all together unfamiliar catacombs. Twenty paces, then left… thirty five paces, then another left. Straight for twelve paces then right… And then the footsteps were gone. All that remained was the soft drip of rotting water. Nadir cursed in his native tongue, and lit a match to get a better look in the darkness. The passageway he was in seemed to stretch for miles, much further than the light of a match could ever reach… What had he gotten himself into?

Nadir moved down the passage for what felt like an hour before he was met with a dead end. The simple walls had ended and the mass grave had begun, an ominous sign. He wandered around the catacombs, making as much noise as possible in an attempt to alert whatever other poor soul might be lost down there with him.

He lost all track of time, down in the catacombs. Before long his water was gone, but he was a man of the desert and did not easily succumb to thirst. He had no food, but years of fasting for the sake of Allah had been harder on his body than this. No, the most difficult challenge Nadir faced in the catacombs were the sounds. The steady drip of water that sounded so tantalizingly like footsteps, the whispers of voices that didn't exist… this place could drive anyone as mad as Erik's brilliant torture chamber could.

Every few hours the Daroga would rest before continuing his walk, attempting to keep careful record of his turns. He knew that if he stayed close to the Opera there was a good chance Erik would hear him eventually and come to his rescue out of duty. Nadir had saved Erik's life, and he knew Erik was forever in his debt because of it. He had saved Erik from death multiple times in Persia, and had more recently feigned Erik's death so that he could live in privacy beneath the Opera… No, Erik was a strange and unholy man, but he would come if he knew the Daroga's life depended on it.

"Erik! Erik if you can hear me, I'm lost." He called into the darkness in Farsi as he had been doing for what must have been a day or two by now. "I know you can hear me, Erik…" He didn't, but if Erik did in fact hear him this statement would surely guilt him out of his hiding place.

"Monsieur Khan?" The voice that met his ears was a woman's, weak and in French… another trick of the catacombs?

"Yes, my name is Khan." He offered to the darkness in French. "Where are you?"

The other voice brightened up considerably. "Thank God! I don't know where I am… Erik left me down here. I haven't moved since he left me, if he comes back…"

Erik's captive! Allah, had he really left her down here to die? And the poor girl was diluted enough to think he would possibly return for her… "Stay where you are, child but keep talking. You are his new protégée are you not? Sing something for me." An attempt to keep her morale up while he searched for her in the darkness.

Aminta did as she was asked, though it was clear she was tired and thirsty for her voice was nothing as sweet as Nadir imagined by the talk of the Opera. She sang a meek little phrase Nadir thought to be Latin. It sounded almost like a lullaby… something about a guardian angel?

After nearly an hour of tracing the sound of the girl's voice and wandering as foolishly as a rat in a maze, Nadir caught sight of the girl in the light of one of his matches. She was seated in the middle of the passageway, tired and dirty with cracked lips and dark eyes… how long ago had Erik left her? She smiled weakly when she spotted the familiar figure.

"Daroga… you look like hell." She commented wryly, clearly knowing she wasn't the image of beauty herself at the moment.

"And you my dear look a vision." Nadir smiled, handing her his pack of matches and moving to wipe dirt off her face with a handkerchief.

"What are you doing down here? Erik said he couldn't hurt you even if he wanted too, he didn't leave you down here did he?"

Nadir shook his head with a solemn frown. "No, he didn't. I was foolish enough to try and follow him down without his knowledge and I got lost. The stupid man is using again, he'll need to be confronted on his own terms.

Aminta held her knees to her, and rested her chin upon them. "I was afraid of that… There were needles and vials in his room." She saw the confusion on Nadir's face and elaborated. "He normally doesn't let me in there, now I know why. He's not well, Daroga. The room was a mess, he doesn't eat, he vanishes for hours a day… and when I last saw him he was speaking strangely. In the third person. I've seen him angry before but he's never looked so…"

"Mad? My dear, Erik has always been plagued by a touch of madness. He kills without thought, he leaves innocent young women alone to starve in catacombs." He gestured about him. "He is not a good man."

"I don't know. Before all this I would have said you were wrong… but he _hit_ me. He left me here to-"

"To die? Why yes, that was the intent." The voice was not Nadir's this time, and Aminta nearly jumped out of her skin as a match was struck and a candle illuminated the tall, masked figure looming over them. Erik seemed more gaunt and skeletal than ever, Aminta noticed upon standing. She took the Daroga's arm, almost instinctively. If Erik was truly crazy the Daroga would have more control over him than she ever would.

"But you're here." Nadir chimed as he stroked the girl's arm like a concerned uncle. "You could have left us to die."

"Erik could leave _her_ to die, but _you_ have been making such a racket for the past three days Erik had no other choice but to come and fetch you, Daroga." With that Erik turned on his heel, not bothering to check and see if they might follow.


	12. Chapter 12

The house by the underground lake felt infinitely more foreign than it had in weeks. Now that she knew what laid beyond the locked door to Erik's room and some of the infinite secrets he was hiding, she couldn't quite look at the place the same way. Ayesha came to greet her master, weaving gracefully between his legs and purring loudly. She shot a contemptuous look back at Aminta and the Persian. Aminta shot one right back, vowing to step on her skinny little tail some day.

As soon as they were fully inside the building, Aminta caught the smell of food and her stomach rumbled audibly. How long had it been since she had last eaten, she wondered? Without even caring to ask, she moved to the kitchen to pour herself and the Daroga water and drank deeply.

"Don't drink too much," Nadir cautioned. "I've seen many men poison themselves with water after days in the desert."

"Because you were never competent enough to stop them." Erik remarked with a bite in his voice, though he allowed them both to drink.

"I'm taking the girl into my care." Nadir told Erik when Aminta went back into the kitchen for more water.

"By all means, if you can stand her you may take her." Erik dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Erik is not as much concerned with her as he is with why _you_ were with her. You've been snooping again, haven't you?"

Nadir folded his arms. "I spoke with the pharmacist. He's not going to be giving you any more morphine, and _certainly_ not any more cocaine."

Erik looked enraged, suddenly a good foot taller and infinitely more imposing Aminta stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched in awe as the Persian stood his ground without so much as a flinch. "You did WHAT?"

The Persian shook his head. "You are so wise but such a child, Erik. Stop all this nonsense. Mademoiselle told me what she saw in your room, and the chemist told me what he's been slipping you under the table. I won't let you do this to yourself, you are a wretched man when you are using. You're a wretched man as it is but you are downright murderous when you're using." He added more to himself than to Erik.

Erik folded his arms stubbornly. "I can cope with my pain as I see fit."

"Your pain is purely psychological, Erik. Look, I have no doubt you're still reeling from what happened. My wife was my first love, I still think about her every day. But… well to be frank Erik, I do not think you were ever in love with Christine. Moping like this, treating a boy's heartache with dangerous chemicals is beneath you." Nadir reasoned, expecting to be met with rage at the doubt of his love for Christine.

He was surprised when Erik didn't respond. Aminta folded her arms and pursed her lips quietly. Drug users don't give up this easily, she knew. What was Erik playing at?

Nadir knew the same, and so he continued speaking. "I'm not leaving here until you're sober. Unfortunately Mademoiselle, that means you must stay too."

Aminta gaped. "I can't stay here until he's _sober_. I've already missed who-knows how many rehearsals, the show opens on Christmas! They'll never cast me in anything if I just don't show up."

"Erik will take the girl out." Stated the masked figure, breaking his silence. "He will not stay here with her for a day longer."

The Daroga shook his head. "Not alone you're not. I will go with you, and you will be handcuffed."

Erik sputtered out a sarcastic laugh, but Nadir was serious. He had no intent of letting Erik vanish leaving him no way back into the house to oversee his recovery, and he had even less intent of leaving Erik alone with Aminta. He pulled a set of handcuffs from his coat and held them out for Erik.

"Monsieur Khan, I don't really think that's necessary." Strangely the voice was Aminta's. Her brows were furrowed, eyes fixed on the handcuffs. "It just… seems a little inhumane. He's sick, not a criminal. Not right now anyway…"

"I'm sorry if this offends, Mademoiselle, but believe me there is no choice." Nadir moved towards Erik, and Erik backed like an animal into one of the corners of the room. Aminta didn't like seeing Erik behave like this in the least. How had he gone so quickly from being such a powerful man to something more reminiscent of an animal? With considerable effort Erik was handcuffed, and he suddenly seemed a foot shorter and less significant.

Numbly, Erik led them over the lake and up into the main portions of the Opera House. Nadir was fascinated by the route, making a mental note of how to arrive back to the lake and into the house without having to pass through the torture chamber. Aminta was silent, keeping a quiet eye on Erik the entire time. While she was still hurt and angry over what he had done to her… she knew this wasn't him, not the Erik she had grown to be friends with anyway. Which Erik was the real one was more the question at this point. Had he been manipulating her before? She hoped not, or she was just as much of a fool as he was being.

Nadir recognized the mirror into the dressing room at the end of the passage. "Mademoiselle, this way will take you out. Do you have the card I gave you still?" Aminta pulled the slip of paper out of her bodice and nodded. "Good. Go to the address on it. My servant will take proper care of you until I return."

With that both the stooped figure in handcuffs and the Persian turned and slipped back down into the bowls of the Opera. Aminta stood in front of the two-way mirror, too tired and hungry to indulge in her fascination. She found the lever before long, and stepped through the ingenious device which had once been used to kidnap a diva.

As she moved out of the opera house, she did her best to keep out of sight. She knew she must have looked a wreck, having spent days underground waiting for rescue. She was nearly out of the opera when she brushed shoulders with a young man who paused politely. "I'm sorry mademoiselle… Mademoiselle Mendelssohn!" The voice chimed in recognition. "My goodness, where have you been? You haven't been to rehearsal in three days, the managers are upset."

Aminta looked up and recognized the handsome young figure of a violinist from the orchestra. They had spoken briefly on several occasions; she had planned to ask the young Parisian where she could find a certain gift for Erik for Christmas. That was clearly out of the question now. "I'm sorry, I've been very ill. I came to get some medicine I left here, but I'll be back for rehearsal tonight once I've changed. I'm feeling much better but I'm sure I don't look it." She spoke quickly.

"Actually, I think you look ravishing. You always do." Smiled the young man charmingly.

"…Thank you." Kind words were more welcome than the man could possibly have known at that point. "I'm terribly sorry, it's Antonio isn't it?"

The young man nodded. "That's right, Antonio DuBois. Say, when you're feeling better could I take you out for coffee some time?"

Aminta was completely taken aback. There were so many other things on her mind at the moment, this was the last thing she had ever expected to hear. Her surprise must have registered on her face, and Antonio held up his hands politely. "I'm sorry if I was too forward, my timing could have been better…"

"No… I mean yes. I mean, no you're not too forward, and yes. I'd like that. Actually your timing couldn't be better." She smiled weakly, feeling the strain of the past few days more than ever. "I'll find you after rehearsal when I'm better?"

The young man nodded eagerly. "Great! Feel better soon, everyone misses you."

Aminta smiled some and continued out of the opera, but wasn't as excited as she probably should have been. Maybe after some food and rest she'd feel better about the situation. After all, what wasn't there to like about a handsome young man taking her to coffee? It wasn't as if she was attached.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know! A LOT more chapters than I promised. I've been doing so well I've been a writing fiend the past few days. :)


	13. Chapter 13

It was finally Christmas! There were festivities all over Paris in celebration of the Holiday and of the grand re-opening of the Palais Garnier. Le Nozze di Figaro was receiving rave reviews by critics who had attended rehearsal, most of them commenting about the talented new addition to the Opera. The people who worked more frequently with Aminta had noticed a change in her though. She had stopped improving, as if she'd hit a vocal glass ceiling after recovering from her illness. She had the potential to be a prima donna someday, but it seemed she couldn't or was simply unwilling to reach that potential.

There were no secrets in the Opera, so it was widely known that Aminta was seeing one of the orchestra members, albeit casually. It was frowned upon for performers to socialize with "the help" as one chorus girl had so impolitely referred to the orchestra once, but Aminta didn't really care. She certainly wasn't in love with the young man, and she had no other ties. What harm was there in letting him buy her dinner every now and again? Besides, he was handsome, charming, well behaved, a wonderful violinist…. What was no to like?

He wasn't Erik, she found herself thinking in answer to herself whenever she would justify their outings. But that didn't matter. Erik wasn't who he had thought he was, there was no sense in dwelling on the past.

Nadir had returned to his apartment only two days earlier, announcing that Erik was as sober as he was ever going to be, though he wasn't happy about it. Aminta pretended not to care, but was secretly glad. At least he was somewhat healthy. Try as she might she couldn't help but care about him, or at least care about the man she'd known before.

It was nearly showtime, and Aminta was backstage with Antonio chatting nervously. "I'm hot. It's hot. Are you hot? I'm really hot…" She remarked, fanning herself with her costume fan frantically in spite of the snow outside."

Antonio laughed. "You're just nervous! You'll be wonderful." He took her hand and kissed her cheek. "I have a present for you."

Aminta couldn't help but smile some. "You didn't have to do that…" She knew he couldn't be making much money, as she was making hardly enough to get by herself and she wasn't even paying rent at the moment.

"I wanted to." He grinned. "Christmas _and_ your debut on the stage, it's more than deserving of a present."

The lights dimmed and Antonio kissed her cheek again. "I have to go. I'll give it to you at the ball tonight. You're going right?"

She had intended to make a brief appearance, but Antonio looked so eager she couldn't help but nod and smile. "Yeah, I'll be there."

Antonio jogged off down to the orchestra pit to warm up, and Aminta bounced on her toes some nervously. The performance went without a hitch. The prima donna made a perfect Susanna, and Aminta was received with great delight from the audience in spite of their general distaste for Americans. She was a good singer, and a great actress. She smiled from ear to ear when the four hour show ended and she lined up for curtain call. Flowers were tossed on stage, the managers presented a large bouquet to the prima donna and a smaller but lovely one to Aminta for her premiere performance. She couldn't remember ever being so proud of herself in her entire life.

Making her way back to the dressing rooms, stopping to thank people for their praise and well wishes, Aminta thought she caught a shadow moving around the corner at the end of the hall. She hesitated outside the door to her dressing room, wondering if it was just a figment of her imagination or whether it was worth pursuing.

"Aminta, come in so we can change!" called one of the girls she shared a dressing room with, eager to change into her gown for the ball.

"Just a minute, I think I left something by the stage." She lied, and closed the door to give the girls their privacy while she moved down the hall into the shadows. When she rounded the corner she caught glimpse of the shadow moving into a door at the end of the hall. She followed it, opening the door slightly in case it might be one of the occupied dressing rooms. It was dark and dusty inside, clearly a room that hadn't been occupied for quite some time. It looked like a strange combination between a bedroom and a dressing room, with a changing table and dressers lining the walls, a full length vanity mirror over the table with plenty of lighting currently being unused, but also a lavish looking bed and a plush sofa filling up the rest of the room.

Most notably, the room was completely devoid of life. Aminta's shoulders drooped some; she wasn't sure what she had been expecting to find, but certainly not an empty room. As she turned to leave, she caught sight of a figure, slightly darker than the shadow it stood in.

"You were marvelous tonight." The voice was undeniably Erik's, quiet and melodic.

"I… Thanks. I guess. I didn't think you'd come, Nadir said you weren't feeling well." She folded her arms over her chest, self consciously.

"I'm not, but I couldn't miss your debut performance." He was speaking in the first person again, which made Aminta smile a little to herself. He really was better.

"What is this place? I've never seen anything like it."

"It's the original prima dona's dressing room. A few years ago one of the ladies decided it was too far away for her adoring public, so a bit of work was done on one of the more forward dressing rooms. Madame Giry sleeps here sometimes when it's too cold for her to venture home." Erik explained, stepping from the shadows but staying near enough that he could hide in an instant if need be.

"So why are _you_ in here?" Aminta enquired curiously.

Erik leaned against the wall some, clearly physically exhausted. "I wanted a place where we could speak privately, but where you wouldn't be missed. It would take you two hours to get two and from the house, mere minutes here."

"Are you okay? Here, sit down." Aminta hopped up on the bed and patted the place in front of her, folding her legs into the skirts of her costume.

Erik waved her off. "I'm fine. The Daroga's put me through some exhausting business is all."

"I'm glad he did. You had us worried."

"I apologize for that, more than you can know. But it was not the drugs that caused the change you saw in me."

Aminta nodded some, slowly. "No… I know. I'm sorry too. I don't think before I act a lot of the time; you hurt me and I wanted to hurt you back. Not very mature of me, huh?"

"No, it wasn't." Erik agreed. "And I can't explain the way I acted in a way that would make me seem any less insane."

"I'd say that puts us back on even footing." Aminta admitted. "Except for, you know. Trying to kill me."

"Again there's no possible way for me to explain it. I can only apologize and hope for your forgiveness." With that he plucked a rose from what seemed to be out of mid air, and stepped forward to offer it to her. It was the closest thing to perfection Aminta had ever seen, and she accepted the flower. She took his hand as she took the flower, and pulled him to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Why don't we start over, huh?" She offered a hand for him to shake, matter of factly. "Hi. I'm Aminta Mendelssohn, it's nice to meet you."

Erik's bottom lip tweaked in amusion, and he took her hand and kissed it in proper Parisian fashion. "The pleasure is mine, Aminta. My name is Erik."

Aminta shrugged her shoulders in playful coyness. "Charmed." The look on her face changed for a moment then. "Wait. Do you have a last name?"

His lips pursed under the mask and he let her hand go.

"You don't have to answer if it's a sensitive subject…" Aminta offered, sensing his discomfort.

"No. Not one that I know of." Erik admitted. "I don't remember my father, I assume he died before I was born. My mother didn't give me his name."

She frowned deeply at that, and folded her arms in her lap. There were a million questions she wanted to ask him now but she didn't press the issue for fear of scaring him off. "I really should get going. The ball's supposed to start soon, I don't want Antonio to come looking for me and find you." Aminta began to rise.

"You _are_ seeing someone then." The disappointment in Erik's voice was well hidden, but not gone completely. She sat again, concerned furrow in her brow.

"I… Yes." There was no point in lying or trying to make it seem what it wasn't. "I didn't really want to at first but he's good for me."

"Good _to_ you." Erik remarked under his breath with a sneer.

Aminta glared at him a little bit. "You don't even know him Erik, don't judge. He's poor as dirt, he saves all week to take me out. He's not buying my attention, he's earning it."

Erik's lips pursed as he noticeably bit his tongue on pursuing the subject. Aminta frowned, and before realizing what she was doing, leaned forward and placed her lips gently on his, or what she could find of his under the mask. She half expected him to strike her for being so bold, but when she moved away his eyes were wide and his body was tense.

"…I'm so sorry, Erik. You are… one of the most amazing people I've ever known. But I couldn't wait for you forever." She explained sadly. "Besides, the last time I saw you, you wanted to throw me out with the garbage." Aminta reminded him quietly.

"I was such a fool." He admitted, sadly and stood. "Thank you."

Aminta stood with him and looked up at him curiously. "For what?"

"The kiss." Erik's voice was so quiet it was nearly inaudible. The meekness of it tore at Aminta's heart, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. But this was impossible. There was absolutely no future with Erik; that was one of the few things she had realized being courted by Antonio. If she was going to live out the rest of her life in Paris, Antonio was perfect for her. He had a steady income and always would since he planned on teaching when he became too old and arthritic to play at the Opera. He already was saving for a house outside the city. He had friends, family…

But he did not have Aminta's heart. No matter how fitting Antonio was for her, he would never make her heart race like Erik could. Silently, Aminta raised herself onto her toes, gently putting a hand behind Erik's head to reach the tall man's lips. She kissed him longer this time, trying to ease him out of his shock and fear. She guided his hands around her waist and flush against him, looping both arms around her neck and kissing him again and again.

Suddenly she tasted salt in his kisses, and she broke away… he was crying, she realized. This thought absolutely broke her heart. He had never been shown this much kindness, this much care in his entire life. Aminta knew what was under the mask and kissed him anyway. There was no threat on her life, no threat on those she cared about; she simply had wanted to kiss him. And she did, over and over again before hugging him tightly around his neck and burying her face there. She breathed him in deeply, that same smell of blood, tea, and spice from his mask filling her senses. It smelled like home, she realized. Not New York… something much older, much less solid and concrete.

Erik held her as if his world would shatter if she stepped away. Aminta let go of his neck to reach behind her and find his hand lacing their fingers and sitting again on the bed, pulling Erik down with her. She kissed him again, more deeply this time, and her fluttered in its cage when he returned it just as thoroughly. The damn mask… it cut into her lip but she couldn't stand to stop kissing him. She drew away, gently, and squeezed his hand.

"…If I took it off, would you promise not to get mad at me?" Aminta ventured, and Erik knew with quiet horror exactly what she meant.

"I can't promise that." He admitted. The instinct was so engrained at this point he wasn't sure what would happen even if he knew what to expect. "It's hurting you…" Erik frowned and touched her red upper lip with his thumb. Aminta kissed it and took his hand.

"I promise not to run away, Erik. I won't scream or even care about you any less. I've already seen it, remember?"

He considered for a long moment before squeezing her hand. "Only if you promise to close your eyes."

Aminta frowned deeply. "Erik…"

"Promise me." Erik believed her when she said she wouldn't scream or run away, but he knew if he saw so much as the slightest twinge of horror on her face he would not be able to control himself.

She nodded. "Okay, I promise." Aminta could see this was important to him, and while she was hurt he didn't trust her more than that she couldn't say she blamed him. She leaned in to kiss him again, long and deep, and after a moment she gently pulled at the ties that held the mask in place before peeling it away. She closed her eyes like she had promised, but she immediately felt Erik tense.

Fighting hard the urge to open her eyes and judge his discomfort, she kissed him again more deeply than ever before, melting onto his strangely shaped mouth. How wonderful it felt to kiss him without the mask! Her skin brushed against his, but she didn't care. All she wanted was to kiss him again and again.

Erik relaxed when Aminta kissed him again, and he kissed her back just as eagerly. He could hardly believe this was happening… And then something else remarkable happened. Aminta made a sound, so soft and pleasant Erik thought it had been a figment of his imagination…. Until she made it again. A quiet, private little hum of delight.

Aminta took his hand under hers and guided it to where she desired to be touched. Her breath caught in her throat as she guided him over the flat of her belly to the curve of her breast… and slowly she found herself wanting more than just to kiss him.

"Erik…" She ventured timidly, eyes still closed but kissing him softly. "Have you ever been with a woman?"

She could feel the blood flow to Erik's face when she asked, and eyes closed she rested her head on his shoulder trying to offer comfort.

"I think that is an obvious question." He finally answered, quietly. Aminta nodded, sadly, but kissed him again. Erik drew it out for a long moment before speaking again, quietly. "…would you teach me?"

Aminta couldn't help it anymore. She opened her eyes and cupped his face in her hands. He winced noticeably, and Aminta leaned in and kissed him firmly. "I would love to, Erik."

She guided his hands to the back of her costume while she kissed him again, and he carefully untied the laces that held the gown on. Aminta stood gracefully to slip out of the heavy dress, returning to him in only her underclothes. She helped Erik to remove his shirt and bit her lip at what she saw. Several mottled old scars lay over his skeletal frame, several right between ribs.

"Oh my God… Erik what happened to you?" Erik leaned in and kissed her without answering, and Aminta kissed him back deeply. When their lips parted she moved her kisses to his chest, making sure to kiss each and every one of the scars she found there. Erik moved his hands into her hair when she rose to meet his lips again, and once again there was salt in the kiss.

Aminta laid back before unbuttoning the corset and tossing it aside. Erik put his gloves aside and touched Aminta for the first time without them, removing her stockings gingerly. Aminta guided him over her and was proud of him when his hands wandered on their own to her breasts. She shuddered at the feel of his skin against hers. Kissing him deeply, she reached down between them to undo his trousers and he sat up again to finish undressing.

True to her word, Aminta taught him how to please her. As riled up as she had been, it wasn't hard. Erik was quick to learn, expressing surprising control over himself. She gasped and arched beneath him but he hardly made a sound even when he finally collapsed over her with a shudder. By then Aminta was flying, her whole body shuddering with delight and she welcomed his weight when he lost the strength to hold himself up over her. She hummed languidly, tracing patterns absently into her lover's back. She kissed his shoulder, smiling lazily until the sound of metal clattering to the floor caught her attention.

Erik bolted upright, digging his nails into the flesh of his left arm and looking utterly anguished. Aminta sat upright, pulling the sheets to her chest… catching sight of the knife on the floor, she yelped and covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a sob. Before she could stop from shaking enough to stand, Erik had dressed and nearly run from the room, horrified by what he had very nearly done.

* * *

**Author's Note**: You guys get another chapter today! A long one too! This is another one I've been sitting on for a long time, but it was really difficult for me to add on to/edit. Instead of stressing about it all night I decided to post it for you now. Love it or hate it, please let me know!


	14. Chapter 14

The plan had been almost too perfect. Erik had complied with the Daroga and managed to wean himself off of morphine and cocaine… but this only served to further his insanity. In the month or so Erik spent being watched over by the Daroga he had learned to pretend; speaking in first person became second nature again, his temper was kept in relative check, but not so much so as to arouse suspicion. But Erik was not quite through with Aminta.

She had shamed him beyond all comprehension. She had earned his trust only to shatter his privacy and trust in one sweeping motion of her hand. Aminta had seen what nobody should ever see, what Erik worked so hard to keep from the world. By stepping into his room and removing his mask, she had caught a glimpse of the inner workings of a madman. And so that madman had emerged in full force, pressing the gentler Erik into the darkest corners of his mind and taking over entirely. There was little struggle; the more gentle Erik Aminta had known was too heartbroken by her reaction to his face to fight back when the madman took control.

It was plain to see Aminta had feelings for the masked musician. He had been worried his plan wouldn't succeed when he heard rumors she was being courted by a young violinist in the Opera, but after weeks of careful observation Erik decided the boy was no threat. Aminta never looked at Antonio the way she had once looked at Erik.

He would seduce her, though he knew she would not be easily seduced. No, she would have to be the one empowered for this to work. He would lure her to the old Prima Dona dressing room and appeal to her feminine sensitivities. She would take pity on him when he asked her forgiveness, and surely her feelings for him would reemerge in full. They would lie together until the moment her body shook and her hands groped… and just as her passion reached its peak he would run a blade through her heart. That way Aminta would realize, however briefly, the pain and suffering Erik endured daily, and how thoroughly she had aggravated it.

The plan had work flawlessly. Erik had let himself be seen just long enough to lure Aminta to the empty dressing room, had little more than thrown himself at her feet and all but begged for forgiveness… and Aminta took the bait readily. They kissed, and how glorious it felt! That was one thing Erik had not anticipated. He had been kissed once before by Christine in a desperate attempt for her to win her freedom. But these! These were real kisses! They were made so much sweeter, so much more delightful when the mask was removed and he could taste her in full. It had been hard in that moment not to ravage her, to forsake the plan and have his way with her whether she desired him or not. The small sounds she made had nearly broken him as the gentler Erik fought hard for control, to stop the inevitable. He was delighting in her touch as much as the madman, but in an entirely different way. It was this Erik who wept both for himself and for the pain he knew he would cause her before long.

It was this gentler Erik who had back control of his senses as he laid draped across his lover and she hummed sweetly into his neck. When he realized what was happening, what had already happened, he had recoiled horrified. The knife had been already poised in his hand, expertly acquired from under Aminta's pillow while she had been distracted. The pleasure had been too intense to stop everything to kill the girl while they were together, a miracle in itself. If Erik had as much self control as he would have liked to think, Aminta would surely have been dead by the time he came to his senses. How he longed to stay in her embrace, to hide the immensity of the betrayal he had almost done to her forever! But he was too sickened with himself to be near her, too ashamed to let himself touch her. She was an Angel and he was nothing short of a monster; just by laying with her he had committed blasphemy.

He had dressed quickly, trying hard not to look at her hurt and frightened form lying naked in the sheets. Erik was more disgusted with himself than he had ever been, and he fled from the monstrosity of his crime so rapidly he could hardly remember the journey back to the house by the underground lake.

Aminta wasn't sure how to react to what had happened… What _had_ happened? She and Erik had kissed and made love, that much as certain. Or had they? Was it lovemaking or rape that had just occurred? She had enjoyed every sweet moment… but the man inside her was not the man he had presented himself to be. No, she had slept with the monster who had tried to kill her once before.

Angrily she wiped tears from her eyes, gritting her teeth hard. She was so embarrassed, so stupid! She felt as though she should have known, but in her heart she knew that hadn't been possible. Her feelings for Erik had grown too strong too rapidly for her to ignore the warning signs even if they had been present. No, Erik was a master of deceit. There was not a single flaw in his act, and Aminta had to applaud him for that.

When she stood she caught another glimpse of the knife and felt sick to her stomach. Why hadn't he killed her? Rape and murder would have been much kinder, she felt. At least then she wouldn't be the one living with the consequences. She had to somebody, anybody. There were so many things racing through her mind she could hardly contain herself. In one fell swoop her heart had been shattered and old wounds reopened. Numbly, she dressed back into her costume and moved through the Opera towards the exit.

The ball had already begun, and people cheered as Aminta entered the room. A sight that should have made her blush and grin was met with a cold, numb glance around the room. She felt nothing, she realized. No embarrassment, no pride, no joy. Emotionlessly she mused if she would ever feel again.

Antonio approached her with a fake smile and a swift kiss on the cheek before ushering her aside and out of the spotlight. "Aminta, what's wrong? You look-"

"I had sex with someone, Antonio." She told him frankly, not caring how she might hurt him by admitting it. He deserved to know. "I don't love you. I can't love you. Frankly I'm not sure I can love anybody right now."

The young musician was shocked. "I… Aminta, what happened to you? When I last saw you you were full of life, now your eyes are dead."

Hearing him say that broke her. She went from feeling nothing to feeling nothing but anguish as she grieved for her loss; he was right. She was dead. Erik had succeeded in killing the girl she had been. She would never be back. Aminta told the young man everything. Where and when she was really from being kidnapped by the Phantom of the Opera, growing to be friends with him and unwittingly growing to love him. She told him about how she had hurt Erik and how that had changed everything between them. She told him about sleeping with him, about how she had been tricked and very nearly killed, about how she wished Erik hadn't been too much of a cowered to carry through his plan.

Antonio held her and nearly shook with fury. It was plain to him Aminta had been fooled, and this was not something he would stand for. He resolved then and there to destroy the so-called Opera Ghost, or die trying. Any monster that can kidnap and rape such a strong woman as he knew Aminta to be must be stopped, he thought.

"Come, you can stay with me tonight. Have a hot bath, change out of this silly costume and rest. You've had along day." Aminta nodded quietly, wiping her eyes. She was suddenly embarrassed by this display of emotion. It seemed like she had been here for years, but really it had only been a matter of months… she hardly knew these people at all and here she was crying like a fool.

The young musician took Aminta back to his modest apartment in the city, explaining to the guests at the ball that she was ill again after such a taxing performance. He gave her his room and did not protest when she locked the door behind her bathe and sleep. He fell asleep so deeply on the sofa he didn't even hear her slip out in the early hours of the morning on her way back to the Palais Garnier.


	15. Chapter 15

It was about three in the morning when Aminta decided what she would do. She was not content to sit in Prince Charming's house and play the victim. She was not about to be coddled and pitied. No, Aminta was going to confront her attacker.

She remembered the path down to the lake perfectly, but when she arrived there was no boat to take her across. It must have been on the other end by the house, she thought. It was a frustrating situation… she was so close yet so far! She knew better than to swim; there were sirens in the water, she had read, and if they didn't drown her the unknown distance surely would.

Aminta sat at the bank of the river and folded her arms over her chest in thought. She clenched her jaw, seeing no way she could possibly cross the river without a boat. She threw a rock into the water in frustration. There were two other ways inside Erik's fortress; through the catacombs and through the torture chamber. Since he had no desire to wind up a corpse on the wall, Aminta decided she had better try her luck in the torture chamber.

Running off memory of the book she had loved as a child, she moved through the bowels of the Opera house looking for the set pieces which supposedly hit the entrance of the torture chamber… and to her surprise she found them with little trouble. Certainly one had to know where to look, but it was not well hidden once the markers were given away. Aminta slipped between the set pieced and through a small hole, dropping down further than she expected into the torture chamber.

To her immense surprise, every last mirror in the chamber was broken. The once formidable forest was reduced to a single tree with a noose, and shards of glass reflecting very little light upon the floor. Aminta crunched her way over the glass to where the entrance to the house was, surprised to find it opened.

Her surprise was doubled when she stepped into her formerly immaculate bedroom to find it in tatters. The entire room looked as though it had been struck by a hurricane. Sheets were torn, wood was splintered, dresses ripped irreparably.

From another part of the house, Aminta could hear quiet sobbing. She dared to step into the main portion of the house, and from the light of the dying fire she could see blood upon the floor. Moving rapidly to Erik's room, she pounded on the door.

"Erik you god damned coward! If you've killed yourself I'm going to murder you. Come out here and face you disgusting bastard." The sobs from inside the room increased in volume, and Aminta tried the handle. It turned, but it took most of her weight to shove the door open. It had been blocked by a massive piece of glass that had once hung on the wall, covered by a strip of fabric. In the center of the room Erik was hunched over a broken, bloody mass. Ayesha.

He stroked her blood matted fur as gingerly as if she were still alive and clutched her to his chest. "I've killed her, my precious Ayesha…"

Aminta looked at him, horrified. "Erik what did you _do_?"

"It was an accident!" He insisted desperately. "I didn't mean to… I didn't know she was in the room. I was so blind I didn't see her when I threw the mirror…" So that was why the mirror was against the door. Aminta couldn't help but be hurt at how he grieved for his cat when he had been such a monster only hours ago.

"I am going to talk to you, Erik, and you are going to listen. If you say I word I swear on my life I will rip off your mask and beat you stupid with it." She started, not even sure if he was capable of paying attention to her in this state.

"I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate how incredibly arrogant you are, how you just walked into my life and _used_ me like you did. All I've ever been is a means to an end with you, and I will_ not_ be someone's dirty rag, not quietly. I wish you had killed me, Erik. I wish you weren't such a damned coward and went through with it. I don't care how hard your life has been anymore, you have no right to make mine any worse than it's already been. What you did is _rape_, Erik. You like to think you're better than the rest of the world, that you're on some different level than they are because of how they've treated you, but you know what? You're not. You're just as sick and disgusting as the rest of us. Remember that nightmare I had not too long after I came here? That was about the last son of a bitch who used me like a piece of meat. I will be haunted by that bastard for the rest of my life but you know what? What he did to me _pales _in comparison to what you did."

Erik looked up at her from his place on the floor, horrified. Tears were pouring fresh down Aminta's face now as she ranted. "He forced me to have sex with him… but you! You were more manipulative than that. You made me fall in love with you as a means to your end! He broke my body but you broke my spirit, Erik. I can't be happy anymore. I don't have any hopes, no dreams… I was met with an applauding room and all I could do was loathe their happiness. I don't _like_ feeling like this, I told myself when it happened the first time I wouldn't ever let anybody close enough to me to hurt me like this again. But I did. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice…" She cut herself off, holding herself around the middle.

"I don't ever want to see you again, Erik. I won't tell anyone where you live now, but if I so much as get the feeling I'm being watched I'll tell everybody what you did to me, what you did to that man when I arrived, and where they can find you. Hell, I'll even help them find the highest tree to hang you from."

"Aminta…" Erik's voice was a broken sound more than a word. Aminta set her jaw but didn't cut him off. "I didn't know. I couldn't have known…"

"Known what? That I was raped? Like that would have stopped you you sick bastard." She snapped at him, and Erik recoiled visibly.

"I know it isn't worth anything…" He whispered. "But I'm sorry. You don't believe me, and you shouldn't believe me. I never, ever meant to hurt you. You won't understand but the monster who did this to you... It wasn't me. It _was_ me… but it also wasn't." He was seeking no forgiveness or sympathy, only to explain. "I can't understand it myself. I'm as mad as a hatter." Erik frowned more to himself than to her. "Of all the horrible things I've done in my life, hurting you will be the one I take to my grave."

"I don't believe you, but I sure as hell hope you're right." With that, Aminta grabbed one of the few surviving chairs in the house to climb out of the torture chamber back into the opera.

Why was it she felt worse now than before she had gone in?


	16. Chapter 16

The dream was always the same. She would lay down to go to sleep, and as soon as she closed her eyes she was transported to a place that looked rather like the Colosseum in Rome. She sat low in the stands, nearest the ring, watching the crowds of people across from here cheer and chatter wildly in their seats. The side across from her was packed to the brim with people, but her side was completely abandoned except for her lone, small figure. Into the arena walked two powerful figures. The first one to enter was a large, monstrous looking beast. It looked rather like a minotaur, a great hulking thing covered in fur and adorned with large, grisly looking horns. It carried with it an axe twice as large as Aminta was. This monster was met with a roaring cheer from the crowd opposite her, everybody standing to greet their champion.

Next into the arena was a much smaller figure. He was slightly taller than a normal man, well built and wearing little more than a thin white robe to protect his modesty and what looked like a violin case strapped over his shoulder His back was adorned with a pair of massive wings the likes of which Aminta had never seen. They were stunning in their purity, each white feather looking as soft as a cloud and tenfold more iridescent. His whole body seemed to glow, she noticed suddenly, though it was a soft sort of light that was barely noticeable. This… this was an Angel if there ever was one. The crowd booed and hissed from the stands, throwing cups of wine and food at the Angel who did not seem to notice. He seemed to float more than walk towards Aminta, taking her hand and kissing it gently.

Aminta understood now why the crowd was cheering for the great ugly brute; there was no way on earth even an Angel could best it. The Angel was young and fit, certainly, but he was nearly half the size of the monster and completely unarmed. The only thing working to his advantage were the wings on his back and perhaps the grace of God, if he were lucky.

A horn sounded and the monster dipped into a battle stance, holding his axe at the ready and quite clearly dwarfing the Angel. The Angel did not move as if to fight; instead he withdrew a small, plain violin from the case over his shoulder and held it under his chin. Aminta couldn't help but stand; was the Angel really going to simply let himself be destroyed? Another horn sounded and the monstrous beast charged. A long, delicate musical note hung in the air, slowing the beast. This note was joined by several others forming a chord, then more still forming a simple, but beautiful phrase like nothing Aminta had ever heard. The entire crowd was silenced as the minotaur faltered in its steps, seeming almost physically pained by such a beautiful sound. It dropped to its knees, wincing and writhing on the ground, and the Angel flowed over to his opponent.

The minotaur spoke to the Angel in words Aminta couldn't understand, but the sound of begging was evident in his tone. The Angel ceased playing and put away the violin, touching a gentle hand to the beast's head between its massive horns. "Sleep now." He commanded in a voice so beautiful Aminta's voice caught in her throat. Her hand moved instinctively down to her belly at the sound, cradling the tiny life growing inside.

For two months now Aminta had had the same dream every night. Realizing there was life inside her had once been what terrified her awake, but when the nightmare was discovered to be a reality she could still never see further than the sleeping of the monster, no matter how hard she tried.

Two weeks after lying with Erik she had missed her period, which was not entirely unusual. In New York she had been taking birth control to help her cycle come more regularly as well as a back up in case something _did_ happen. There was no obvious alternative to her medication here, and figuring she wouldn't be having sex for a while Aminta hadn't really worried about it much when she took the last of her pills only a few days after arriving. She assumed when she missed her period she was simply going back to being irregular. It was the morning sickness that caused Aminta to worry, and her missed period a month later confirmed it. She was pregnant in a world where unwed mothers were shunned and scorned.

Two months after lying with Erik, Aminta decided she had no choice but to tell Nadir. He had been like an uncle to her since she moved into his apartment, and he deserved to know the trouble she had gotten herself into. There was a chance he could even help her think of what to do. She was running out of options rapidly; once she started showing her secret would be out and the life she had been building in Paris would come to an abrupt end.

Nadir was floored by the news. Aminta had neglected to tell him about sleeping with Erik, only that he had attacked her Christmas night after the opera. She had made him promise not to go scold Erik for it, telling him that she had already done so and the matter was taken care of. It was water under the bridge, she insisted, and she was confident she wouldn't have any more problems with him.

The Persian took her hands into his and patted the back of her hand. "Child… this is a difficult situation, I must admit. I take it you haven't told Erik yet?"

Aminta shook her head. "No. But I've been sick… if he's been around the opera he might have noticed. One of the girls I share a dressing room with is already suspicious. Probably because she's had three abortions…" She murmured.

"My advice is not to tell him." Nadir stated after some thought. "If he's attacked you before, there's not telling how sound his mind is or how he will react. For the safety of you and the baby, I suggest keeping this from him as long as possible."

"Yeah, I thought about that too. But I don't know… I can't explain it. I guess it's hormones or something, but part of me wants to tell him and see if he'll come around. I know it's stupid."

"It isn't stupid at all, child. When I was in Persia, this was not an uncommon problem in the palace; young servants would have affairs with men above their rank and have children by them. But no good ever came of telling the men the child was theirs. They were always met with aggression." Nadir explained, knowing if she was going to tell Erik nothing he said would change her mind.

This isn't exactly the same thing, she thought. She wasn't some harem girl looking for a meal ticket. She was pregnant and alone in the world… she wanted somebody to share her fears with who might relate. Somebody who had as much of a stake in what was happening as she did.

The only way she could have that was by risking telling Erik.

After rehearsal that day, Aminta snuck into the old prima dona dressing room. It was exactly as she had left it almost eight weeks before. The bed was made, albeit sloppily, and a rose lay rotting on the vanity, a single ribbon tied around its stem. She sat on the bed and traced lines absently over her belly where life grew. She had never been one for science, but for some reason this fascinated her; what did the baby look like now? Did it have fingers? How big was it? Could it have hopes and dreams yet, or was it simply a mindless lump of tissue floating in her womb? She couldn't help but feel a little attached to it; she had made _life_, even though it was not exactly in the most romantic way she could imagine.

"Erik… I don't know if you can hear me or if you'll even care about what I have to say, but if you can I want to talk. I'd come down to you but the fall's a little steep so you're going to have to come up to me." She remembered him bragging once about how he could hear almost everything that went on in the Opera. How true that was she was never sure, but she if it was true hopefully he would have heard her and would show himself to her.

"I thought you said if you ever saw me again you'd turn me in to the police." Remarked an unseen voice not unlike the one she had conversed with the day she first arrived.

"I know. This is different though. Where are you?"

"You can speak to me fine from here, can't you?" Aminta could tell Erik was leery of her, expecting a trick. He was right though, so she didn't press the matter.

"Yeah, I guess I can. You're not going to like what I have to say…" She was stalling, and she and Erik both knew it.

"I rarely do. Out with it, Aminta." Erik commanded, though not harshly.

Aminta took a deep breath and rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm pregnant." There. She had said it. It was out in the open, and there was no taking it back. Her announcement was met with silence, and Aminta frowned. "Well aren't you going to say anything? Scream, shout, anything?" At this point _anything_ was better than silence, she thought.

The door opened and Erik's familiar masked figure slipped inside. His concern was evident in his posture and in the small portion of his face that remained uncovered. She gave him a small "What can you do?" sort of shrug and was met with a solemn frown.

"Aminta, I…" but he was cut off.

"I don't want anything from you, Erik, honest. I just thought you deserved to know."

"But you haven't slept with Antonio." Was all he could manage to say.

"No, I haven't slept with anyone but you." She stated a little impatiently. "I haven't even been here six months, I'm not a whore." But three months into your stay you got yourself knocked up, she thought to herself.

"I didn't mean that!" Erik jumped to his own defense. "I just… this is probably the one situation in life I never in a million years thought to prepare for. How sure are you?"

"Not one hundred percent." She admitted. "But close. Every day that goes by I'm more and more sure. I've missed two cycles, I get sick at seven in the morning on the dot, I can't stand asparagus and I used to love it…"

Erik nodded, trying to wrap his head around the situation, to come with some sort of plan of action… but there was nothing. He had made a horrible mistake, and now Aminta was paying for it in tenfold. The worst of her problems were yet to come! The child would be born a bastard, and probably as hideous as its father…

He moved to sit on his knees in front of her on the bed. "You won't ever believe me, and again I know you shouldn't. If you have half a brain in your skull you'll leave Paris and take the first boat back to America. But what happened that night was not what I ever intended. I can't deny I had envisioned being with you… but not like that. I was not well. I had been lying to Nadir for weeks about getting better when I was only feeling less and less like myself. I tried to stop it, I did. And I guess I succeeded to some extent because you're still here. But I should have been able to stop myself before it ever got that far. I tried… but not hard enough. I wanted so badly to be with you I didn't have the power to stop it. I was too ashamed to even look at you. I'm too ashamed to look at you now."

Aminta wiped at her eyes some and looked up at the ceiling. "Why are you telling me this? It just makes you seem absolutely crazy…"

"Because I am absolutely crazy. But I love you. I love you so much I could have died for what I did to you. I don't deserve to be forgiven but I want your forgiveness more than I want oxygen. I don't want you to hate the child because I am its father..."

She looked appalled at him for even suggesting she could hate it. "I don't hate it at all, Erik. I'm terrified of it, and for it, but not because you're the father. I'm not ready to be a mother, let alone a single mother. Being a single mother where I'm form is hard, here in Paris… Jesus Christ I still don't know what I'm supposed to do, but I'll figure it out. It isn't the baby's fault its father is a stark raving lunatic." Erik winced some at that but nodded in understanding.

"Please… come and stay with me. This shouldn't be your cross the bear alone, Aminta. I don't have much but all that I have is yours if it makes this easier for you. You are right about Paris, it will eat you alive and spit you out whole. But you don't have to go into that world, you can stay in mine."

Aminta rubbed her face. She almost felt a shouting match would have been easier. "And do what, Erik? Raise a child like a mole in the darkness? Stay at home and keep house all day? It isn't right."

"Then just until the baby is born. I will take care of you and then you can choose where you go from there. My mother, she owned a house in Boscherville outside of Rouen. If she's passed away I would have inherited it by now, consider it yours."

"Erik, stop it. I'm… I'm not even sure if I'm going to keep it, to be honest. It might be kinder to abort it at this point. I'm not ready to be a mother. I'm not. And to have a crappy mother and no father… I wouldn't want that kind of life, would you?" Aminta wiped some at her eyes.

"I had that kind of life, Aminta." Erik told her, frankly. "I think… I don't know what I think. But I know that in spite of how many times I've wished to be dead I'm still alive, and there must be a reason for it."

She nodded quietly and sat thinking for a long few moments. "How do I know this isn't another of your tricks? How do I know you're not just trying to sweet-talk me again before stabbing a knife in my back?"

"You can't possibly know." Erik stated sadly, and though he was hurt by her comment he didn't object.

Again she nodded and she held her face in her hands. "Okay. I'll come live with you. But not until I start showing."

She thought she caught the faintest hint of a smile on Erik's lip… a genuine looking one she noted, not one of the secret, maniacal smiles she had seen in him before. "I'll have everything ready for you by then. Leave a note in this room when you're ready and I'll come fetch you."


	17. Chapter 17

Aminta had planned for everything. She had stopped seeing Antonio not long after Christmas, not only upset by the events but rather turned off by his attempted heroics. She wasn't some damsel in distressed and resented being viewed as one immensely. After Erik suggested she stay with him during her pregnancy, she had told the Managers she was going to return to America to take care of her sick father. She left it open as to whether she would return and when, reluctant to cut off all ties with the Opera when her career had been so promising. God forbid something happen, she wanted to be able to return to the Opera with no questions asked.

She had left a note for Erik in the old prima dona's room, telling him her plan. She would take a cab from Nadir's apartment to the Rue Scribe, where Erik would meet her and take her down to the house by the lake. Nadir had agreed to cover for her if the need ever arose; though he made it clear he disapproved of the situation entirely.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like me to come with you, Aminta?" Nadir offered for the hundredth time as her bag was loaded into the horse-drawn cab.

She kissed both of his cheeks and hugged the Persian tightly. "I'll be fine. Erik was right, you are a worry wart." She teased. "Come and visit though? I'll make sure to let you in if he's fixed the door to the forest."

Nadir nodded. "Of course. Every month at least. Do be careful." He helped Aminta into the cab and closed the door gently behind her.

"I will be." She promised with a smile, though she was nervous herself. Even after all of Erik's pretty words, she still didn't quite trust him. Only time would tell if he was being honest or if it was just another ploy.

Aminta felt like she was beginning to show not terribly long after she spoke with Erik, though according to Nadir it couldn't be explained by pregnancy at all. A few pounds due to stress would explain away the issue. However Aminta didn't want to risk spreading rumors, and so prepared for her departure to be the middle of march, a good fourteen weeks into her pregnancy. She had always been lean, so she surely more conscious of her weight than other people were. She was intrigued by the firmness of the little bulge that was developing just under her skin, though; yes, this was certainly the baby and not too many pastries after tea.

The cab took her to the Rue Scribe and helped her unload her bag. She thanked the man and tipped him generously, insisting she was getting a ride from there when he inquired as to the odd location. Aminta waited until the cabbie was well out of sight before slipping down to the gate to look for Erik. She spotted him in the darkness and moved to meet him.

"Sorry I'm a little late, Nadir was being his usual self and the cabbie was unusually polite." She explained with a bit of a smile.

Erik dismissed her with a wave and took her bag. "I've only just arrived myself. I was putting the finishing touches on the room."

"Only just now? What have you been doing the rest of this time?" Things had been eerily quiet around the Opera, and six weeks seemed like more than enough time to repair the damage he had done to the house in his latest fit.

"I ordered a few things from out of the country. They only arrived a few days ago, I've been working on them since then." He explained, though ignored her curious look and didn't elaborate.

Down they went through the catacombs of Paris to the entrance of Erik's home. She wondered not for the first time if she was doing the right thing by going with him. She didn't particularly care about her own safety at this point, but if she was going to keep the baby she wanted to be damn sure no harm would come to it.

Aminta was becoming more and more attached to the baby every day. The little spark of life inside her helped ease her loneliness, she found. She could tell it whatever she wanted, whatever it was that was bothering her that day and it didn't judge her. It didn't make unwelcomed suggestions, it didn't offer advice… it simply listened. It had no other choice, but it didn't seem to mind. While the thought of a child was the source of a great deal of stress, it also helped ease her depression. At the very least there was one thing in this strange world that needed her to stay alive and healthy. She wasn't about to let it down.

Stepping into the house from the catacombs, Aminta froze at the sight that greeted her. The room was stunning. When she had last left it had been broken and tattered, but now it was a work of art. A table made of rich dark wood stood in the middle of the room, with two grand chairs flanking it on either end. Two soft, plush sitting chairs were arranged by the fireplace, and a new bookcase sat adjacent to them filled to the brim with books she recognized from Erik's old collection and many she had never seen before. The piano had been restored to its former beauty, looking more grand than ever with a fresh coat of polish and wax. There were several decorative tables, each one filled to the brim with flowers of every shape and color she could imagine, filling the entire house with their perfume.

She moved over to the room she had once been held captive in, and gone was the wreckage of the simple furniture. In its place was more of that rich, dark wood, carved with elaborate gothic-style detailing so fitting with the rest of the furnishings. Beautiful Persian tapestries hung from the wall, and there was a solid wood door where the hidden door to the forest once had been. Perhaps the most startling feature of the room was the small wooden bassinet just at the foot of the bed, filled with lush fabrics and pillows of the purest white.

Aminta stood in the doorway, speechless for a long moment. "I… You did all of this?"

Erik nodded, seeming pleased with his handiwork. "Yes. The wood came in just under a week ago, the silk and the tapestries arrived this morning.

"Wait, the wood came in a week ago? You _built_ some of this?" She demanded, shocked.

"The bed came in plain pieces, I assembled it and carved the detailing on it. The bassinet and the armoire I built, yes. There's clothing in it too, by the way. It should be plenty for most of your maternity."

"Erik I… This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." She admitted, wondering how it was possible the same person had been more cruel and more kind to her than anyone she'd ever known.

"I find that hard to believe."

"No, really. I have cursed your name every day since you left me out in the catacombs, and you built me a place to live? Thank you. Really." She turned and lifted herself onto her toes to peck Erik on the lips, gently. She thought she felt a hint of a smile on Erik's mouth.

"It's the least I could do. Go change out of that corset before you strangle the baby." He commanded gently, relieved that she was so pleased with his gift to her. He would spend the rest of his life atoning for his crimes against her if he had to, but it was good to know he was at least taking steps in the right directly.

Erik gave her privacy to change, and didn't realize when she had slipped out again to explore the rest of the house. Quietly she inspected the woodwork, wondering how much of it Erik had actually done himself. All of it was so beautiful. Craftsmanship of this quality wasn't widely available where she was from, even in the best antique stores and pawn shops in New York.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure Erik wasn't in sight, she moved quietly to his door. After the chaos inside the last several times she had seen his room, she expected it to be locked. The handle turned and the door opened smoothly, allowing Aminta to peek inside. To her surprise, the room was just as immaculate as the rest of the house. Tapestries hung from the walls, a large mirror stood on one end of the room covered by a sheet of flawless black silk. A massive writing desk was up against one wall, already filled with pages and pages of compositions. A glass cabinet adorned the other wall, filled with small trinkets. The box Aminta had seen upon first arriving was locked away inside, as well as several glass music boxes and other small trinkets that were not as familiar to Aminta. A large armoire flanked the back wall, and Aminta quietly mused as to why he would need such a big wardrobe; all she had ever seen him wear was the same black suit and cape.

While the room was stunning, the object ornamenting the center of the room disturbed her considerably. A beautifully carved, glossed coffin was arranged as if it were at a funeral. Flowers decorated its outside, the inside was lined with silk and just enough padding to make it appear comfortable enough for the dead. Surely this wasn't where Erik slept?

She snuck inside the room, moving past the coffin with a lingering glance to the armoire. When she opened the wardrobe, she nearly laughed at the sight. The same black suit! Over and over again, at least ten or fifteen sets of the exact same, perfectly tailored suit lay inside. What an eccentric man, she mused, though she didn't begrudge him an innocent oddity such as this.

One thing inside the wardrobe caught her eye. A colorful, long piece of fabric hung to the side of the armoire. She pulled it out and her eyes widened in aw. It was a robe, made of silk and elaborately embroidered in Middle Eastern style the main fabric of the robe was a deep, lush red and the embroidering varied from blue to black to white to green, yet somehow flowing seamlessly together in a stunning pattern. Looking over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, she slipped the robe over her shoulders. It was far too big for her, the bottom nearly touching the ground and the sleeves hanging almost comically low over her hands. The smell that washed over her was as wonderful as the robe itself, a mix of the familiar smell of Erik along with flowers and wood. She smiled and spun, watching the fabric billow around her. It was then and there she decided she was commandeering this robe.

She slipped out of Erik's room with the robe on, closing the door quietly behind her. Peering into the kitchen, cleared her throat to get his attention. He turned and inspected her, looking entertained by the sight of her in the oversized robe. Aminta spun, modeling the fabric. "Well, what do you think?"

"I think you're wearing my robe. Why were you in my room?"

Aminta shrugged coyly. "Just exploring. It's so comfortable!"

"Yes it is. I can get you one if you'd like one of your own." Erik offered.

"Nope, this one's fine." She grinned and waltzed back into the living room to peruse the bookcase for something she could read. One she recognized immediately was Dante's LaDivina Commedia. Pulling off the shelf she frowned some when she realized it was printed in Italian, the language it was originally written in.

Erik stepped into the room and noticed the disappointment on her face. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing. Just looking for something to read." She showed him the book she'd picked. "Don't speak Italian though."

"I do. If you'd like I can translate it for you." Erik offered, sitting by the fire.

"I'd like that." She smiled, handing him the book as she sat across from him in the other plush chair. "When did you learn to read Italian?"

"I'm not sure, really. Eleven or twelve years old, maybe. I was speaking it a while before I could read it very well. Would you like me to translate to English or French?"

"French, please." If she was going to be living out her life in France, might as well be exposed to as much French as humanly possible she figured. She already found herself thinking in the language from time to time, which she took as a good sign.

Erik opened the book and began to read aloud in French as easily as if that were the language written upon the page.

"_Inferno, Canto one._

_Midway upon the journey of our life__  
__I found myself within a forest dark,__  
__For the straightforward pathway had been lost."_


	18. Chapter 18

One month after moving in with Erik, Aminta was feeling like maybe things were going to turn out okay after all. There was no movement yet from the baby, but Erik insisted that was normal; she shouldn't feel the baby move until around week twenty eight. When she asked when exactly it was he became a gynecologist, Erik merely shrugged and said he was a jack of all trades. Aminta didn't bother questioning him further.

He was an angel to her, truly. Aminta was up every morning sick to her stomach until Erik discovered she was experiencing morning sickness. He made her a draught he swore on his life was safe for the baby, and upon taking it her sickness immediately vanished. He began leaving it on her bedside table every morning, so Aminta could drink it as soon as she began to feel queasy.

Erik was good company to her, too. She got bored often, and when she had nothing else to do she took to questioning him about his past. Where he'd come from, where he had been, simple things she felt she should know about the father of her child. Usually Erik was vague but sometimes he told her the most wonderful stories about China or Italy, or Persia. The stories about Persia were her favorites, often because they involved Nadir whom she adored. The way Erik told stories had her hanging on his every word, even though she knew they must have all turned out all right in the end because both Erik and Nadir were alive and well.

Aminta was dead asleep when Erik slipped into the room like a ghost. He sat at the edge of the bed and watched her as she slept. Gently he reached out to push a brunette curl out of her face and behind her ear, pulling his hand away quickly when she stirred and stretched.

"Mmm, Erik? What time is it?" She mumbled sleepily, laying on her back now with her eyes still closed.

"Too early. I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, it's fine. What's the matter?" Aminta patted the place next to her in bed, beckoning him to lay down. He did so over the comforters, and Aminta held herself against him, draping an arm over his chest and resting her head in the crook of his arm, half asleep still.

Erik played with one of her curls in his fingers and furrowed his brow quietly. "Just a bad dream. I wanted to check and make sure you're okay."

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "Want to talk about it?"

"Maybe in the morning. Go back to sleep, you need your rest." Aminta obeyed willingly, and Erik spent the remainder of the evening at her side. It was comforting to feel her heart beat and the steadiness of her breathing.

At what would have been the crack of dawn if the sun could be seen, Aminta stirred with a groan. The pregnancy had been easy so far except for the morning sickness, which woke her up queasy every morning just as her dream of the monster and angel came to an end. A glass was placed in her hand before she could sit up, and Aminta looked around groggily. She had almost forgotten Erik had come in in the night. After drinking the draught and waiting for the nausea to subside, Aminta stretched and sat up. Erik was standing now, and took her cup from her to place it on the side table.

"How are you feeling?" Aminta asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Better now… but I wanted to ask you something. If it's too difficult a subject you don't have to answer." He added quickly, and Aminta wondered what it was that could be so touchy, hoping it wasn't something he'd done.

"Sure, ask me anything."

"You mentioned you were raped before… How old were you when it happened?" He ventured cautiously, trying his best to have his questions answered without opening old wounds.

Aminta raised a brow at him, but answered. "Just shy of sixteen. Why?"

"I'll explain in a minute. This is going to seem strange… but what was it you were wearing, do you remember?"

"Ah, let me think. I know it was a black skirt, and I think it might have been a peasant-type top. The gypsy bohemian kind of look was in back then." She tried not to confuse herself, since "back then" to her hadn't exactly happened yet here. "What are you getting at?"

Erik looked more pale than usual under the mask. "The boy's name… Was it Mark?"

She held herself around the middle and glared at Erik a little then. "Yes. It was. How the hell do you know that Erik?"

He sat on the bed, looking flabbergasted himself. "I had a dream last night. I saw the whole thing happen, I shouted and fought but I couldn't get to you to stop him. You were about as old as you said, wearing exactly what you described. A black skirt and a ruffled square neck top, like an English peasant. It was-"

"Blue." Aminta answered for him, and Erik nodded.

"The dream made me sick to my stomach. When I recovered I had to come and check on you. I didn't mean to wake you, I just had to see if you were all right."

"I don't understand. This isn't possible, Erik. Assuming neither of us is crazy, which is admittedly a stretch, that happened seven years ago for me but over a hundred years in the _future_ for you. You can't possibly have seen it." She rationalized.

"I know. And I used to think you were mad for thinking you came from the future but now… What I saw was not like anything I've seen before."

Aminta held up a hand to halt him. "Wait, you're only just now starting to think I'm telling the truth?"

Erik's shoulders drooped. "I… Yes and no. I stopped worrying about it a long time ago, it's only just come up again."

"You've thought I'm _crazy_ this entire time?" She demanded, having very little ability to pick and choose her battles with hormones raging inside her.

"Aminta that isn't the point."

"It damn well should be the point!"

Erik clenched a fist, frustrated. "I don't think you're crazy, Aminta. I don't care about where you came from or how you got here. However it happened, it happened. I'm more concerned with the fact I just saw you live through rape as real as if it were happening right in front of me."

Aminta gripped at her hair, equally frustrated and trying very hard not to remember what had happened seven years ago. "I don't want to talk anymore, get out so I can change."

He of all people recognized avoidance when he saw it, and he stood to obey her wishes. Before leaving the room he stopped to kiss the top of her head. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there to stop him." With that Erik slipped out of the room to make breakfast for her while she changed, having to fight the instinct not to rush back in and hold her when he caught the faintest sound of a cry from her room.


	19. Chapter 19

Around five months into her pregnancy, Aminta made a decision she would regret for the rest of her life. She was becoming restless, beginning to feel cooped up after six weeks of living underground. It was wonderful, having someone to wait on her every need and to dote on her… but she had never been the type of person to take well to being spoiled. In her former life she had been busy almost every hour of the day, but now Erik wasn't even allowing her to cook or clean. Not that her cooking was any better than his (quite the opposite) or that there was anything that needed cleaning, but at the very least it would have given her something to do.

She was lying in the bath, soaking in the tepid water with both the door to the bathroom and the door to her room open. There was no sense in closing the doors; Erik never even entered an open room without knocking on the door frame. And this way she could converse with him more readily than through two closed, locked doors.

"Hey Erik?" She called, tracing patterns in the growing bulge of her belly. "I want to get some things for the baby."

"Like what?" He called back, moving to the doorway of her room but no further to protect her modesty. He had seen her naked before, but it still didn't feel right.

"Clothes and blankets and things. Stuffed toys. The bassinet is great but it's all we have so far."

Erik's amusion was evident in his voice. "Because the baby isn't born for another three months, at least. I'll see what I can find when I go to the market tomorrow."

"Actually, I want to go myself." She ventured, continuing quickly before she could be met with resistance. "You've been great Erik but I need to get out and move a little you know? It's springtime in Paris, I don't want to spend all of it inside just because I'm pregnant. Besides, I want to shop around and pick things out. One of my friends called it nesting, she said it happens to everyone during pregnancy." Aminta wanted to make it perfectly clear she was happy with him, that she just needed more to do.

The entertainment was gone from his voice. "I don't think that's such a good idea. Paris is very busy in the spring, if you run into somebody from the Opera…"

"Then I say my ship was stopped from departing due to weather or something, and that I was staying with my uncle." Clearly she had thought all of this through already, but Erik was still hesitant.

"There's been a fever going around, it just isn't wise right now. If you don't like what I bring back tell me and I'll find something else."

"Come on, Erik!" She pleaded. "Just a few hours. I'll keep my head covered. Besides, I'll be in baby stores; most girls at the opera wouldn't be caught dead there and you know it."

Erik couldn't help but relent, though in his heart he felt this would not end well. "Okay. I'll take you up after you've eaten something. Two hours, and then I want you back."

"Four hours. You don't know us American women and our shopping habits Erik, I'll bet I could outshop a Parisian any day."

"Three hours, no more." Erik concluded.

Aminta grinned from the bath. "Thanks Love." She chimed pleasantly, and finished washing quickly so she could eat.

After nearly inhaling her breakfast, Erik did as he promised and took Aminta through the catacombs to the streets of Paris. "I'll be here for you in three hours." He reminded her, and she reached up on her toes to peck his mouth.

"Three hours, you got it." Aminta wrapped her scarf around her head, glad for the breeze as an excuse for her to hide her face. It was early enough in the season that the air was cool even if it was pleasant in the sun. She stayed as inconspicuous as she possibly could, heading to the addresses Erik had written for her as places to start looking for things for the baby.

She took her sweet time wandering around the Parisian marketplace, wandering into shops filled with things she had no need for, and finding absolute treasures in others. After about two and a quarter hours she had spent a considerable amount of her savings from the Opera, but was pleased with her purchases. She had armfuls of bags full of things for her baby, whose gender she didn't yet know. She stayed clear of pinks and powder blues and went with yellows and greens instead. She purchased what she was certain was the softest, most plush teddy bear ever made (though she tried hard not to think of what animal it had _actually_ been at one point since she was certain the fur was not synthetic). With a spring in her step on the way back to the Rue Scribe, Aminta caught sight of something in the window of an antique store that nearly caught her breath in her throat.

A Stradivarius violin. She had seen one once before, when she was taking cello lessons in school. Her teacher had inherited one, and played it in concerts at the MET. Until hearing Erik's violin it had been the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. Very few were made, something around eight hundred she thought she had heard once, so Aminta knew that it had to have been priceless. Perhaps the owner of the store didn't know what it was he was selling.

Aminta stepped inside the shop and moved to inspect the violin more closely. It was indeed a real Stradivarius, remarkably carved though somebody had made a poor attempt to restore its finish and had damaged the wood some. It was nothing Erik couldn't fix himself, she was sure, and certainly not a flaw that would affect the sound of the instrument.

The curator of the shop approached her with a smile. "Madame, I can see you have good taste." She was suddenly glad she'd purchased herself a ring to wear on her wedding finger before shopping for the baby and not on her way back. Clearly it worked.

"It's really a beautiful instrument. Do you know who makes it?" She asked naively, feigning ignorance.

"No Madame, I do not. I only know that it just came in this morning, and it is undoubtedly the most beautiful instrument I've had pass through my shop. Do you play?"

"A little." Aminta admitted. "But it would make a better gift for my husband. He's something of a virtuoso, and his birthday is coming up." She had no idea whether this last part was true or not, but it hardly mattered.

The curator smiled. "What a thoughtful bride you are. Tell you what. I haven't quite set a price on it yet. I will sell it to you for a hundred francs."

Aminta knew it was worth at least ten times, that, but decided to try her luck anyway. She frowned. "That is a little steep… With a baby on the way our budget is tight, you see."

The man nodded gravely. "But for such a beautiful instrument! Surely it must be worth at least a hundred francs."

"I'm sure that it must be, Monsieur. And perhaps if it were around eighty I could afford it but one hundred…"

"I'll tell you what. Eighty francs it is. Consider it a gift to your husband and baby." There certainly were advantages to being a pretty woman in France, she thought to herself. There was no way he would have sold it to a man for less than one twenty.

She grinned broadly and kissed the man on both cheeks. "Sir, you are too kind! Our family will cherish it forever." Aminta paid the man and could have danced the rest of the way down the streets of Paris to meet Erik. She hid the violin carefully in one of the bags of baby's clothes and followed him giddily down back to their home.

She had not heard the curator of the store cough, nor had she seen him wipe sweat from his brow just as she left the store. Two days later, the end of the world could not have waken her from her fevered dreams.

Nadir had been immensely surprised to see Erik in his living room after his morning walk. The man was pacing like a wildcat, fretfully. "My goodness Erik, calm yourself. What's going on?" The daroga asked, urging his friend to sit in the more comfortable of the chairs in the room.

Erik remained standing, though stopped his pacing. "Aminta is ill. Very ill. She got a fever last night and won't wake. This is my fault, I should never have let her leave the house!" He slammed a fist on the mantle of the fireplace so hard Nadir was sure he must have splintered a knuckle.

"You have draughts for fevers though, Erik. Make her one and she'll be feeling better by supper." He suggested, though he felt if it were that simple Erik wouldn't be here.

"I know nothing that would certainly not harm the child. I've never needed it, normally women catch fever after giving birth…" Erik seemed devastated by his own incompetency, and Nadir frowned deeply. "Besides, her fever is so high it may take days to break even with my strongest draught. She's so terribly ill, Daroga! I fear for what I'll find when I return…"

"Then we mustn't waste any time in seeing to her." Nadir concluded, grabbing his coat to combat the cool darkness of the catacombs.


	20. Chapter 20

Erik and Nadir debated for an entire day on how best to care for Aminta. Taking her to a hospital was not an option, they knew. It would not only compromise hers and Erik's safety, but that of the baby. Diseases spread more rampantly in western hospitals than anywhere else in the world, and they both knew if the fever didn't kill the baby, an infection from a hospital might.

The debate now was whether to try and ease Aminta's fever. Neither were sure of its cause. Erik had suspected diphtheria, but the characteristic blue-grey coating on the back of the throat was absent. A particularly virulent strain of flu was also suspect… in either case they had little choice but to wait out the course of the disease, which only seemed to be getting worse.

"When did you say the fever began?" Nadir demanded, hand on the girl's forehead. She was completely unresponsive and dangerously hot to the touch, causing the Daroga to frown.

"The night before last. About forty hours ago." Erik handed the Daroga a cool wet cloth for Aminta's forehead that smelled strongly of mint and tea in an attempt to increase its cooling effect.

"Erik if she stays like this for long she may never wake up. You've seen fevers kill men twice her size, as have I. The ones who survive too much of this go mad."

"I know, I know!" Erik was frustrated and tired. He wanted nothing more for her to open her eyes and announce it was all a cruel joke.

"You've got to give her something for the fever." Nadir's voice was sad, but firm.

"At the cost of the baby? I won't do it, Daroga. Aminta would never forgive me."

The Daroga sighed. "Erik if you don't break the fever they both may die. Frankly the baby may already be past saving. There might still be a chance to save Aminta. You're a brilliant man, Erik. You know this will only get worse before it gets better, if it gets better at all."

Erik had known this from the moment he tried to wake Aminta and failed. Whatever she was ill with was very possibly going to be the death of her if her fever didn't break, and soon. But the baby… he knew how Aminta was attached to it. To be honest, the idea had grown on him also. He had originally been content to let the baby be only Aminta's, to remain detached from the life they had created. Somehow, it had always been Aminta's baby. That is, until now. For some reason now that the child's life and death lay in his hands he struggled with the thought of destroying what was his.

There were no guarantees no matter what course of action they took. Erik could give her a draught to break the fever, and she and the baby could still die. She also could recover but lose the baby. The first two options seemed the most likely to Erik… but there was the smallest chance the baby would not be harmed by the medication, and that both mother and child would survive. Without the medication, the same options were available, with both Aminta and the baby dying seeming the most likely choice by far.

Nadir was right, Erik concluded. There was a greater chance of saving at least Aminta if the fever broke than if the disease was allowed to take its natural course. Without speaking to Nadir, he moved into the kitchen to prepare the most potent brew for breaking fevers he had learned in his time spent with gypsies. The smell of herbs filled the house, and Erik returned to Aminta's bedside with two cups; one contained the brew for curing fevers, another contained a solution for inducing labor.

"Erik… you showed my son mercy once, do you remember?" Erik nodded at the Daroga's question, numbly. Erik had been very fond of the man's son… but the boy had been very ill and surely would have died in pain. It would have been cruel to allow him to live. He had killed the child, but humanely and out of mercy. Even still the death of the boy weighed heavily on his heart. Nadir continued. "You carry a burden that should have been mine. Please, allow me to carry this one for you."

Erik was truly touched by the man's offer, and after some hesitation he agreed, handing the draught to Nadir. The Persian held the cup to Aminta's lips and stroked her throat to help her to drink it in her fevered state. There was no turning back now. Erik retrieved a spectacular copper stethoscope from his room, not the sleek rubber tool used today but an elaborate hollow tube with only one ear piece. With resignation he placed one end of the tube against the bulge of Aminta's belly in an attempt to listen for any sound from within the womb. He could hear Aminta's heart, faintly, and a small flutter of a fetal heart racing just beneath. He released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, but continued to listen, keeping track of the flutter minute after minute as the medicine entered Aminta's blood where it would soon meet the fetus.

After twenty minutes, the flutter had slowed to an irregular pulse. By the time thirty minutes had passed, the pulse sounded only once a minute, at most. When three quarters of an hour passed, the sound was gone entirely. All that remained was the weak sound of Aminta's heart in her chest and her labored breathing.

Nadir could only watch as his friend collapsed into anguish. The powerful man could hardly pick himself up off the bed, so heavy was his heart. Quietly the Persian gave Aminta the second of the droughts, and before long Erik and Aminta were the parents of a stillborn, no more than six inches long and still weighing under a pound. With tears in his eyes, Nadir said a prayer for the child that would never know life and wrapped it gently in one of the blankets Aminta had purchased only days before.

Erik moved from the bed to the furthest corner of the room where he sat, dreading Aminta's waking as much as he had longed for it before the birth. Nadir changed the sheets as best he could, and kept watch over the girl. He changed the cool cloth on her head frequently. By the time the sun rose over the Opera, Aminta's fever had broken, and she was beginning to stir in her sleep. The Daroga was sleep in the chair beside her bed when she finally woke.

Every muscle in her body was stiff and felt impossibly heavy. She was drenched in sweat but the sheets were clean. Looking around the room, she spotted Nadir in the chair… when had he arrived? And where was Erik? How long had she been asleep anyway? "Monsieur Khan?"

The Daroga stirred, and smiled when he saw her awake and aware. It was not his usual smile though… there was a twinge of sadness to it, Aminta realized, which made her heart sink in her chest. "Child, we've been worried about you. You've been very ill."

"I remember feeling a little under the weather… and then all these strange dreams. I feel awful." She groaned, and attempted to sit up in bed. The room spun wildly around her and she decided laying down was probably the best option for now. "Where's Erik? How long have I been asleep?"

"He's here. You've been out for a few days now I think. It's hard to say without night and day down here." Nadir gestured to the corner in which Erik sat numbly looking out into the room. Again, Aminta could feel her heart sink. Something was very, very wrong.

"Nadir, what happened?"

The Persian bit the inside of his cheeks, brain racing to find some way, any way to tell her and cause as little grief as possible, but he came up with nothing. "I'm so sorry… but the baby is gone."

* * *

**Author's Note: **20 chapters! Holy cow! A great big thank you to everyone who's read even one chapter, and an even bigger thank you to those who've read every one. Love you guys!


	21. Chapter 21

It was days before Aminta could be coaxed out of the bedroom. She went from being wild with grief to completely unresponsive, to aggressive and violent. At any given moment her mood was utterly unpredictable, except that it was anything but happy. The only consistency in her behavior was her stubborn refusal to eat or set foot outside the room in which her baby had died. Even when Nadir took the baby to be buried, Aminta had refused to attend. There was no service, just an informal burial in the Boscherville cemetery. A small stone lamb Erik had carved served as a headstone, with no name or date to mark the occasion. Their child had been conceived in secret, and in secret it was laid to rest.

Erik tried desperately to coax Aminta to eat, but the most he could get her to do was drink a bit of broth he had made of vegetables and chicken. She had lost a considerable amount of weight during her illness, and was losing more by the day. Her eyes were darkening and becoming more hollow, as were her cheeks. The hard bump on her stomach that had once held their baby was nearly flat again, and Erik noticed even her old dresses from before she was pregnant were beginning to fit a little loosely around her breasts.

The only thing that kept Erik from behaving just as erratically as Aminta was her health. By concerning himself with her he was able to fend off the worst of his pain, though when she slept he couldn't help but grieve.

Finally, about four days after the stillbirth, Aminta stepped weakly out of her room to sit by the fire, holding her knees to her chest and resting her chin upon them. Her presence did not go unnoticed by Erik, who came to join her by the fire. "Nadir went home today. He'll be back next week."

The news was met with a quiet nod of understanding.

"Are you hungry? I'm making a stew."

"No." The quiet, careless answer was met with a frown.

"Aminta, you must eat." Erik's voice was insistent, desperate almost.

"Why? You never do."

The biting sarcasm in her voice was trying Erik's patience. "I've eaten more this week than you have, which is saying something. You'll never feel better if you don't eat."

Aminta bit her lower lip. "I don't want to feel better, Erik. Would you? You told me there was a fever going around, you told me I should go. But I did. I got sick and the baby paid for it. I don't deserve to feel better."

"No, I wouldn't want to feel better." He conceded and was quiet.

"It was a boy, wasn't it?" She asked, surprising Erik.

"Yes, it was."

Aminta nodded. "I had a feeling it would be. I had such a hard time coming up with boy names, I never did decide on one. I wasn't sure how you'd take to him being named after you, and I certainly didn't want to name him after your father. Naming him after my father would have been an even worse idea; at least yours only died. Nadir seemed too ethnic for Paris."

"There's an abundance of literary characters you could have used." Erik suggested.

"I guess so. I didn't really think about that. Aaron, for example. Lysander. Fabian. Lorenzo. Adrian."

Aminta smiled a little, privately. "Adrian. I like that. Where's it from?"

"The Tempest, by Shakespeare. You're an English speaker, I take it you've heard of it. Adrian is one of the lords." Her smile prompted Erik to move to the kitchen to fetch bread and water in an attempt to feed her while she was distracted.

"I haven't read The Tempest in years… Adrian. That will be his name then. Our little Adrian." Aminta took the bread and put a little piece in her mouth, absently. Erik was quietly pleased with this small success. "You said he was buried in Boscherville. Isn't that where you were born?"

Erik nodded. "Yes. It's about a day by carriage, I thought it would be private enough to not raise questions but close enough to visit."

"I'd like to see it. Would you take me?" Aminta thought it was fitting that their son should be buried where his father was born. She was curious to see where Erik had grown up and where their son would never grow old.

"Of course. If you eat a good meal tonight we can go tomorrow." He offered in an attempt to bribe her to eat.

"What kind of stew did you say you're making?"

"Boeuf à la bourguignonne. It's beef braised in red wine with vegetables. A peasant dish, but it's really very good."

Aminta seemed to think this was agreeable, as she nodded. Erik moved out of his chair to bring her a bowl of the hearty stew, giving her more vegetables and potatoes than meat to avoid upsetting her stomach after so long without real food. She ate quietly by the fire, finishing her entire bowl and even eating most of a second one Erik brought out for her. She had been hungrier than she claimed, apparently. He couldn't say he blamed her, with how much stress her body had been under the past week.

He made them a light breakfast in the morning, and before long they were on a carriage to Boscherville. The color was already returning to Aminta's face after a full night's sleep and a good meal, Erik was pleased to see. He hid himself well in the carriage, used to traveling discretely by now. Aminta rested her head on his shoulder, quiet for the entire trip. They arrived in the middle of the night, and Erik sent Aminta into the local inn to rent two rooms.

"Why two? And why not come in with me to rent them?" She asked, showing more interest in the goings on of the world around her than she had in days.

"I may be recognized. There aren't very many masked people in the world after all. And two rooms is simply more appropriate."

Aminta rolled her eyes some, though not cruelly. "Okay you can stay here, but we're only getting one room." She took the money he offered her, and moved inside to rent a room on the first floor, opening the window to allow Erik to move inside.

"Don't you even think about sleeping on the floor, either." Aminta stayed in her underclothes for bed and moved under the sheets, patting the place next to her. She knew him well enough to know he'd avoid her like the plague if he got the chance. Except for the night he had that nightmare, Erik had made sure to give her as much spaces as he thought she needed ever since that Christmas night they had been together.

Erik obeyed her, taking off his outmost clothes to slip into bed, but leaving on the mask. Aminta turned to face him and watched him quietly. A brow lifted under the mask. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Thank you for being so patient with me. And for bringing me here. I know this can't be easy for you." She whispered.

"It's… easier than I thought it would be. So far, anyway." He admitted, quietly.

"How long has it been since you've been back here?"

"I'm not sure. At least thirty years, probably more. I left when I was about eight, but I lost track of the years a long time ago."

Aminta couldn't imagine being away from someplace so significant for thirty years or more. "Will you show me around the village?"

"There isn't much to see. Most of it I don't know anyway. I only ever left the house at night, I don't think I ever saw it in the daylight."

Aminta frowned deeply. "Well. Let's go see it now then." She suggested. "Everything but the cemetery." That she wanted to see in the light.

Erik considered this for a moment before agreeing, standing to dress again. Aminta joined him, and together they slipped out the window to avoid rousing the suspicion of the landlord.

They walked through the village, arm in arm. Most of the village was asleep, though several windows had lights on and there were candles burning from inside the church. Aminta caught Erik's attention turn to an ordinary looking cottage, covered in ivy. It had a large, walled in garden in the front and tall windows covered with curtains, though there was light shining from inside. Something clicked in her mind and she looked up at him. "That's it, isn't it? That's where you grew up isn't it?"

Erik nodded quietly, though he was notably more tense than he had been a moment ago, and his jaw was set.

"Wait here." She said suddenly, and let go of his arm to move deliberately towards the house.

"Aminta, don't." Erik reached after her but was glued to the spot.

"I just want to see who lives there now. I'll be right back, I promise." She moved towards the house quickly so Erik wouldn't try and convince her not to pry. Taking a deep breath, she knocked at the door, quietly in case the occupants were asleep and had simply forgot to turn out the lights.

There was movement inside the building and the door opened just the slightest bit. "Who's knocking at such an ungodly hour."

"I'm sorry, Madame. My name is Aminta, I came all the way from Paris. I… There was a boy who used to live in this house with his mother. A boy with a mask. The boy left a long time ago, but I was wondering if you knew where his mother might be?" She asked politely, eliciting long silence from the woman on the other end of the door.

Finally the door opened entirely, revealing the figure of an aging but graceful woman, around seventy years old Aminta guessed. The woman had tears in her eyes as she spoke, softly. "How do you know my Erik?"


	22. Chapter 22

Aminta didn't know what she expected to find at the ivy covered cottage, but she found herself speechless. She had imagined what she would say to Erik's mother a hundred times if she ever got the change to meet the woman… but none of those things came to mind at the moment, confronted with this sad looking former beauty.

"I'm a good friend of his." Aminta managed to spit out, not entirely sure how to explain their situation to a woman who had very clearly been raised with proper French virtues.

The woman held a hand to her mouth some. "So he's alive? He lived?"

"Yes, yes he's alive. May I come in?" Erik was going to hate her for this, she knew, but her curiosity overwhelmed her.

"Of course, yes come in." The woman stepped aside to allow Aminta in and closed the door behind her gently.

"Madame… I'm sorry, I don't know your last name. Erik only goes by Erik."

"No I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. Madeleine Renard. Please, tell me about my son." The woman was more eager than Aminta had expected… Erik was so eccentric, so broken at times Aminta had expected his mother to be something of a monster.

Aminta sat, feeling tired. She'd only had one decent meal in over a week and it was beginning to catch up with her. "He's an incredible man, Madame. One of the most amazing musicians I've ever heard play. And he's just as good a woodworker."

"The boy was a prodigy. We were all too afraid of him to encourage his talents much. He was talented at too many things, far too quickly. He was designing buildings the likes of which the world had never seen, and his voice-"

"Erik sang?" Aminta interrupted. In all her time with him, she had never once heard Erik sing.

"Oh yes. He had the most beautiful voice I've ever heard, out of a man or a boy. I suppose out of women too but that would be comparing apples to oranges. To my knowledge his talents were generally unsurpassed by anyone." Madeleine frowned a little, remembering how immensely they had scared her and feeling a little pang of guilt for it. "Mademoiselle, do you know where he went after he left? I was so sure he'd left France all together and died, I couldn't think of a way even a boy as brilliant as Erik could survive in the wilderness so young."

Aminta shook her head. "He doesn't speak on his past much. I know he lived with gypsies for a while, and sailed a bit. He made something of a name for himself in Persia, that I know. And here… he helped to build the Opera in Paris."

Madeleine frowned deeply. She had been undeniably horrible to Erik… but did care for the boy. Unfortunately, she realized this far too late, and Erik had already fled from his monster of a mother before she could attempt to change her ways. Her actions had caused the boy to become a gypsy... she shook these selfish thoughts out of her head and smiled a little. "I imagined if he was still alive that the Opera was his doing. It looks considerably like some of his first works."

Aminta raised a brow and the woman went to a wooden chest at the back of the sitting room. Unlocking it and digging through some, she pulled out a stack of old parchment. Aminta's jaw could have dropped at the sight of them. She accepted them from Madeleine and studied each of them individually. There were soaring towers, beautiful houses, palaces fit for a king.

"How old was he when he drew these?"

"Let's see, I believe he began when he was about five. He didn't stop until he left home at eight."

That a five year old had come up with such perfect designs, and then successfully transferred them to the page completely floored Aminta. She knew she shouldn't have been surprised, Erik was too much of a genius to not have begun young. A thought entered her mind suddenly, and she asked while the timing was still appropriate. "When is his birthday? I bought him a gift but I don't know when to give it to him." She explained.

"October the twentieth. We celebrated it once…" Madeleine frowned deeply at the memory. "My God, he must hate me."

"…I don't think he hates you, Madame. But… You did harm him in a good many ways. I wasn't telling you the whole truth before. We're more than just friends, we had a son. Were going to have a son, anyway… That's why I'm here. He died"

Madeleine covered her mouth in shock, not sure what to be more surprised over; the fact her son had conceived a child or that the poor thing was dead. "Oh my dear, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Aminta continued. "When I told Erik I was pregnant… he mentioned he was afraid I would hate it because he was the father. He never said it but I think he was also afraid if it was born looking like him I would treat it like you treated him." She took a breath, contemplating on whether she should say what she was driven to say next. "He's here. In Boscherville. We came to see our son's grave. I think you should talk to him."

The older woman looked mortified. "I could't. I couldn't face him after everything I did, he hates me I know he does. And his moods… he gets into these moods that are simply horrible."

Somehow Aminta didn't think the woman had the slightest idea exactly how horrible his moods could be, but she continued. "I can't make him do anything, but I think it would be good for him to see you."

Madeleine frowned deeply. She had done so much wrong by her son. She was an old woman in declining health… this may be her only chance to tell him how sorry she was, and how worried she had been for him. Quietly she nodded. "Tomorrow though. It's late, my old bones are tired."

"I don't know if I can convince him to come to the house. Would you meet us at the cemetery?" Aminta asked. "If he wants to go inside with you from there he can but I don't want him to feel trapped…" She knew Erik would only take meeting with his mother well if he felt in control.

"I will be there." Madeleine promised, and showed Aminta to the door.

Aminta returned to Erik, who had moved to hide nearer a tree. He looked at her like an expectant child, and she took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers. "She's going to meet us tomorrow. You don't have to do anything you don't want Erik, but the option will be there for you." He nodded quietly and squeezed her hand.

"You'll be there?" He asked as they walked back to the inn.

"As long as you want me to be." Erik nodded again, seeming comforted by this.

Bright and early the next morning, both of them dressed in black with Erik hooded and Aminta veiled, they ventured out to the cemetery behind the church. Aminta clutched Erik's hand tightly, and rested her head on his shoulder. It was too beautiful a day for this, she thought. Where were the clouds and the rain?

Erik's voice broke her thoughts as they passed the church. "I used to sneak into the church when I was a boy so I could play the organ." He confided in her. "I never knew the town thought it was me until I was scolded for it. I figured they would assume it was a ghost from the cemetery. I hadn't yet perfected the art of hiding though." He mused, causing Aminta to smile some.

"You're still not very good at it." She teased. "Dropping chandeliers, hanging men from the stage… a little flamboyant don't you think?"

Erik chuckled a little, morbidly, conceding she was right. It did seem like a terrible cry for attention, looking back on it all.

They walked through the cemetery towards the newer graves, and Erik stopped them in front of the carved stone lamb he recognized as his work. Aminta froze, and was surprised to find her eyes dry. She was sad, without a doubt. Their little Adrian left a hole in her heart that would likely never be filled… but this place was truly beautiful. A fitting resting place for a newly made angel, she thought. Erik moved to hold her from behind, resting his head against hers and looking down at the little grave. Aminta held his arms as they held her and was quiet.

"We can have another one." He told her, quietly as he held her.

Aminta shook her head. "Not now. I think this was a blessing, in some small, horrible way." Erik looked at her, curiously. "I'm not ready to be a mother." She told him. "And you're not ready to be a father. Maybe someday, but not now."

Erik knew what she meant. They were both plagued with troubles that would only damage a child. If they raised it together now, it would never see the light of day, living like a rat under the Opera. If Aminta raised a child on her own it would be at the risk of her own safety and at the mental health of the child… no, now was not the time for a child. But Adrian had helped her to realize that she did in fact want to be a mother someday, something she had never imagined for herself before. More than that, she wanted desperately for Erik to be the father to her children.

Another black figure approached them, and Erik tensed some. As the figure approached, Aminta recognized the aging form of Madeleine, carrying a lily. She stood next to the pair, crouching arthritically to place the flower at the foot of the tiny grave.

"Erik… it's so good to see you." She was trying very hard to fight off tears of every emotion. Aminta could feel Erik tense around her, and he let her go keeping only a hold on her hand.

"…It's good to see you too, Mother."


	23. Chapter 23

Neither generation seemed to know where to begin. They stood by the grave, simply inspecting one another. Each was wary of the other's reaction. To Aminta's surprise, it was Erik who spoke first.

"I didn't leave because I hated you." He said quietly. "After what happened with Sasha I knew if I didn't leave things would only get worse." Aminta had heard about Erik's boyhood dog Sasha, but was never sure what happened to the animal.

Madeleine's eyes welled some, and she nodded. She had wanted to hear those words from him since the moment she discovered he was missing. The dog has been killed and Erik had been stabbed in a fight with some of the horrible boys from the village… and the next morning he had vanished without a trace. She had been so sure her inability to protect him and to prepare him for the world outside had driven him off, and that if his wound hadn't killed him the elements had. But here he was. This was her Erik, a man now. A sight she never expected to see.

"Please, come inside, both of you. I'll put on tea." She offered, and with some hesitation Erik nodded his agreement. Aminta and Erik followed just behind the older woman to the ivy covered cottage and sat together on one of the sofas. The house hadn't changed much at all, Erik noticed. He wasn't sure why he expected it to be different, since his mother had decorated it to begin with… but nearly everything was in place, exactly has he left it. He wondered morbidly if his sorry attempt at a bedroom was still upstairs in the attic.

Madeleine hadn't had guests in ages, and certainly hadn't expected to have her son sitting in the living room after all these years. She brought tea in for them and set it on the table by the sofa. "Your wife tells me you helped build the Palais Garnier. I would have thought it was your design, by looking at it. I saw a production of Figaro there just after Christmas, it was splendid."

Erik gave Aminta a clearly confused look, and Aminta returned it with one that insisted she hadn't claimed to be his wife. He didn't argue though; better to let the old woman believe they were married than unwed with a child. "I did design it, actually. Garnier stole my work, but I was allowed to stay on for the construction." He explained. "And Aminta was in the production, actually."

"That is why you look so familiar! You played the countess, didn't you?"

Aminta smiled politely. "Yes. I'm glad you liked it, we worked very hard."

"What is it you do for a living now? Are you still building?" Madeleine asked her son. Erik was quick in answering.

"I saved enough from my travels to retire. I give Aminta voice lessons and compose with my time." His mother seemed pleased with his response. He couldn't bear to tell her he was extorting a salary from the Opera, even if the majority of it was being saved.

Mother and son talked for quite some time, never becoming entirely comfortable with one another. Really they were strangers, Aminta realized. The woman knew nothing about his life, and Erik knew even less about hers. He found out she had never remarried, for no man had ever loved her like his father had, even the doctor who had courted her during his youth. He revealed very little about himself, knowing most of his life would displease her. He confirmed that he lived with gypsies, and that he had been a magician in a palace in Persia. There wasn't much to tell of his life, he had insisted, as he has spent most of it until recently moving around Europe.

"How did you meet your wife, Erik? She really is stunning." Madeleine smiled at Aminta. "But you must be half his age my dear! I really am curious."

"What is age but a changing face, Madame?" Aminta asked with a smile to Erik. It went unspoken but clearly she did not love Erik for his face, so what did his age matter? "We met at the Opera. I had just arrived from America, and we stumbled across one another. The rest is history."

Erik gave Aminta a grateful look from under the mask. Madeleine spent the rest of the evening telling stories of Erik's brilliance as a boy, bringing out compositions and drawings Erik had not seen since he had first created them. How young he had been! He thought to himself. The certainly weren't amateur, but he had come a long ways from sketches and masses to where he was now.

As the sun began to set the three said their goodbyes. Aminta and Madeleine exchanged hugs, and Erik kissed his mother's cheek, a not insignificant gesture though neither could bring themselves to embrace. At Aminta's request, they moved back to the cemetery to watch the sun set from their son's grave.

"Thank you for doing that." Aminta squeezed his hand.

"It… wasn't unpleasant. But I don't think I will be visiting her again." Erik said quietly, and Aminta understood. He and his mother were strangers, and while the meeting had probably put a little water under the bridge no amount of reconciliation would ever make what Madeleine had done to Erik right or reverse the course of history.

"She told stories of what a brilliant boy I was. She neglected to mention how much torture she put me through because of it. She never wanted me to sing, I wasn't allowed to practice throwing my voice, she'd beat me if I refused to do my writing. The one thing she encouraged was my architecture, probably because her husband had been a mason in hindsight." Aminta frowned. "Granted I usually found ways of doing what I wanted in spite of her." He admitted, a little smugly.

"Good. I'm glad you didn't let her break you. Is that why you don't sing anymore?" She asked curiously.

"No. I sang a bit for Christine… but I don't like what my voice is capable of at times. I enjoy singing dearly, but I feel it effects others more strongly than I would like."

Aminta understood what he was getting at. "I've noticed that when you speak, also. I've found myself shutting up a few times just because of your tone. I have a few ex boyfriends who'd love to learn that trick." She teased gently, evoking a small smile from Erik.

There was a comfortable silence for a while as the sunset, and Erik spoke again once the sun had vanished and there was only color on the horizon. "My mother decided to celebrate my birthday one year, when I was turning four or five. She asked me what I would have liked as a present. I was mortified to tell her, but she threatened to beat me if I didn't, so I confessed that I wanted two kissed. One for then and one to save for later. She beat me anyway and sent me up to my room. That is why your kisses that night meant so much to me. Even though I wasn't myself they touched my heart. I never did get to thank you."

Aminta frowned deeply at his story, and gently pulled his head down to meet her lips. She kissed him properly for the first time since Christmas. "I believe you about that night, Erik. You've been a saint since then, even when I've been a right pain the ass. Though I still think you're an asshole for thinking I was crazy that whole time." She smiled, only half serious. She was already scheming for Erik's birthday. He still didn't know when the date was, so her plan to surprise him would be a piece of cake.


	24. Chapter 24

Life slowly but surely returned to normal. Aminta made an appearance back at the Opera, explaining her relatively short absence by the fact her father had passed away shortly before she had arrived. She had been able to take the first ship back to France with ease, she explained to the managers, who were glad to have her back. When the cast was announced for the season's performance of _Die Fledermaus_, Aminta was delighted to find herself cast in the mezzo-soprano role of Prince Orlofsky. Sure it was a male part, but the vocal arrangements were much more in her comfort zone than a lot of the soaring soprano pieces she had been exposed to before supposedly returning to America.

Aminta was able to escort herself up to the Opera now that she had found the entrance to the torture chamber, which had been to the most part converted into a place for her to enter and exit the house by the lake with ease. Erik had put in a ladder for her, though he insisted she move it when she arrived home for safety reasons. She obeyed, though she had no problems telling Erik he was being paranoid. In spite of the fact Aminta knew the way into the main portion of the Opera, Erik liked to escort her up though allowed her to come back down of her own accord in case she wanted to linger after rehearsals. He had been warming up to her considerably since their trip to Boscherville, she was pleased to discover, and he would even kiss her goodbye when they parted ways near the upper levels of the Opera.

The only difficult part about returning to the Opera was Antonio. He had refused to take "I don't love you" for an answer, and insisted on lavishing Aminta with affection. The young man did everything in his power to try and woo Aminta as he had before, not quiet understanding why a single young woman who had been interested in him before suddenly wasn't any longer.

Summer seemed to fly by, and before Aminta knew it, it was September again. Had a whole year really passed? It seemed like both an eternity and a moment since she had arrived at the Opera. So much had happened during that time! She had been kidnapped, but somehow fell in love with her captor. She had been nearly killed, and had both conceived and lost a child. She had sung in seven Operas and four masses, had seen all of Paris in every season at the height of the city's fame. It had been at once the greatest and most tragic year of her life, and she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. A year ago she had been a feisty, spirited twenty two year old actress trying to make her way in New York City… now she was a year older and what felt like a hundred years wiser.

The summer seasons consisted of masses and classical vocal works. Aminta didn't care for these nearly as much as she cared for the Opera, as her true passion was acting. When it came time to rehearse for _Die Fledermaus_, she was ecstatic to be back in her element. Antonio was just as excited for her.

"You must be glad to be back on the stage." He smiled, cornering her on her way out of the dressing room before rehearsals one day.

Aminta smiled back politely. "Thrilled. I'll bet you're disappointed though, I hear you were all loving Bach's Mass in B Minor this summer."

"A little. Rumor has it we're doing Magic Flute this Christmas, though."

Her eyes widened and a grin spread across her face. "You're kidding me. We're doing Magic Flute?" Magic Flute was easily one of Aminta's favorite Operas. She could still remember going to see it with her mother at the MET as a little girl, grinning the whole way through.

"It's not confirmed yet, but I think if we bug the managers enough it's a possibility. Actually, they're going to make the announcement at the Masquerade on Halloween."

"Excellent." She smiled. "Thanks for the news. I'm sure everyone's going to be thrilled if we can perform it. Mozart seems to be a hit around here."

"Yeah well your friend the Opera Ghost seems to have a passion for Mozart. Rumor has it he suggested it to the managers." There was a bit of a sneer in Antonio's voice then; Aminta had indeed mentioned Erik as the Opera Ghost when she had spilled her heart out about the incident the previous Christmas. She was immensely glad in hindsight that she had never used Erik's name.

"I for one am glad he did, and you should be too." She concluded matter of factly, trying to move past him to the wings of the stage. He grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Would you like to go to the Masquerade with me?" He asked. He had heard her say she didn't love him a million times, but he couldn't help but think that maybe she could learn to.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Antonio."

"Well, why not? You're not going with anybody else are you? Certainly a girl like you doesn't plan to dance alone?"

Aminta had never had trouble with going to dances alone; she preferred it usually. Dances in this day and age though almost invariably involved a partner, so going alone would make her a bit of a sore thumb. She knew of Antonio's feelings for her though, and had no intention of leading him on.

"It doesn't matter why not, Antonio, my answer is no." She stated, and pushed past him into the wings to wait for her cue.

After rehearsal she often enjoyed coffee with one or two of the girls she shared a dressing room with, but today she caught Antonio lingering too nearby for her comfort. She changed quickly, and slipped back down under the Opera to the house by the lake.

Erik was surprised to see her so soon, and with such a concerned look on her face. "Welcome back. Is something the matter?"

Aminta poured herself a glass of wine and moved to sit by the fireplace. "No. It's just Antonio. He's being awfully persistent these days. He asked me to go the Masquerade with him on Halloween, and looked an awful lot like he didn't want to take no for an answer."

"Well he won't have much of a choice. If you don't want to go with him he certainly can't force you." Erik rationalized.

"No, I know. It's just getting on my nerves a little is all." She said, taking a long drink from her wineglass.

"Why don't you go with him then?" Erik suggested, though his tone hinted he hadn't wanted to ask.

Aminta looked startled by the question. "Well, because I kind of thought you and I were…" were what? Dating? Did people date in the Victorian people? She asked herself. "A thing, I guess. That doesn't make any sense to you, does it?"

"Courting, you mean?"

"Yeah, sure. Courting." Aminta had no idea if that's what this was, but it seemed the best word for it given the circumstances.

"Aminta, I can't marry. It's simply not a possibility for me. So in those terms, I can't ever court anybody. But, even considering that there is something between us, I couldn't take you to the Masquerade. You might as well go with the boy. At least you know he keeps his hands to himself."

She raised a brow at that. "Let me make something clear; I'm not looking to get married, Erik. I think you could marry if you wanted to give up your privacy, but I can't ask you to do that. I like whatever it is that we have going right now." She'd like to include more sex in the equation, but that was a different argument for a different day. "Second, why can't you be the one to take me to the Masquerade? I hadn't thought about it before, but really; it's a masquerade! Everyone else will be masked. And didn't you go to the last one? I mean it was to threaten people, but if you find another costume no one will know the difference. Even if you used the same costume, I'm sure people would think it was a prank."

Erik considered this for a long moment. "If I took you to the Masquerade, you would have to find a way to explain me to Antonio and your friends in the Opera. It would draw attention to us."

"Forget them. I'll just introduce you as Erik Renard, the man I've been seeing since I returned to Paris. He's a very private man you know." Aminta smirked. "It wouldn't do to bother him much, it was a terrible chore talking him into taking me as it is."

Amused, Erik consented. "Okay, fine. I will take you to the Masquerade. I will not be going as Read Death though, I'll find something else in time. Speaking of celebrations, do you realize what today is?"

"Actually no, I'm not quite sure of the date. I haven't been reading the papers lately. What day is today?"

"The anniversary of the day you arrived. It is also Adrian's intended birthday." Erik smiled softly, with a twinge of sadness.

"There's a hell of a coincidence…" Aminta noted, surprised. "How strange. Well, happy anniversary to me, and happy intended birthday to Adrian." She raised her wine glass to him as if in toast, with a similarly sad smile.

Erik held up a finger to pause her, and moved into the kitchen. He returned to the fireplace with a lavish looking chocolate cake, frosted with a chocolate so dark it was nearly black. Aminta caught herself salivating just by looking at it. "Seriously Erik, what is it you don't do?"

"Fly." He concluded without hesitation. "Not yet at least."


	25. Chapter 25

Aminta had gone to bed at a reasonable hour on October the nineteenth, or so Erik had thought. She may have gone to her room, but she had certainly not gone to sleep. She sat up waiting to hear Erik's door close for the night before sneaking back out into the main house, where she began working like a madwoman. The violin in its case was excellently wrapped in colorful paper, a cake was baked, and a large spread of food was laid out on the table. Aminta had been preparing for days so as not to arouse suspicion. She bought a little bit of food every day, and hid it all in the retired torture chamber, along with another gift for Erik she had come across.

When everything was prepared, Aminta went back into her room to change into her prettiest undergarments and the simple blue dress she knew was Erik's favorite on her. She slipped on the robe she had stolen from him for good measure, careful not to disturb it's hiding place; it had become an ongoing battle for the robe, with Aminta stealing it from Erik's wardrobe and Erik stealing it back out of hers. Almost weekly it seemed she had to find a new hiding place for it.

Finally, she placed another log on the fire to sit and rest until Erik got up. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep until she heard the click of Erik's door closing behind him. She was suddenly very much awake and grinning from ear to ear. "Morning. Happy Birthday." She smiled to him and moved to lean against the back of the chair.

Erik was speechless. He had gone to bed thinking the next day would be just as ordinary as the last, and really it was for after however many years of not acknowledging his birthday it seemed strange to start now. But the thought and the care behind the gesture was immensely moving.

"Well, what do you think? There's presents too. Nadir's coming by for dinner to give you his, but I wanted you to myself this morning." She smiled.

"I think you went through a lot of trouble for nothing." Erik mused.

"It's not nothing, it's your birthday. I'm grateful you were born at the very least, so I wanted to celebrate it. Now sit down and eat, the cake's been teasing me all morning but I've been waiting until breakfast."

Erik obeyed, and took some fruit and bread from the spread she had laid out to appease her.

"If you could have any present for your birthday what would it be?" She asked curiously. "Plausible or not, what is it?"

"I don't know, there's nothing I really want." Erik shrugged.

"Not true. Come on, impossible or not let's hear it." Aminta demanded.

Erik considered for a while. "A Grand piano, maybe. Wood for a new violin. Proper wood is a pain to find, it has to be grown in cold weather." He explained. "I'm sure that's why Stradivari violins are such perfection, he was getting his wood during one of the coldest periods of European history."

Aminta handed Erik the wrapped violin in its case, and laughed when Erik looked to the bookshelf to make sure his was still in place. "I didn't just wrap yours, go on and open it."

Erik did, careful not to tear the paper Aminta noticed, amused. She was pretty sure in her day and age he'd be medicated for obsessive compulsive disorder, but it was one of those eccentricities she loved about him. Upon opening the case, Erik's eyes widened considerably under the mask. "How did you find this?"

"There was this antique store on the way back to the Opera from the children's store. It was sitting in the window and I recognized it. The man had no idea what he was selling, I got it for a stupidly low price." She explained, knowing he'd be worried about the cost considering how incredibly valuable the instrument was.

Erik lifted the violin from its case, inspecting it as if it were going to vanish from his hands at any moment. He frowned deeply when he caught sight of the poor attempts at restoration, wondering how anyone could be so atrocious to such a work of art. Aminta caught his frown, and her shoulders drooped slightly.

"Is it all right? It's not a reproduction is it? I could have sworn I saw the mark on the inside…"

"No, no. It's certainly real. These marks though, it's as if somebody tried to "improve" the Sistine Chapel."

"I think you probably could." She told him. "I noticed those too, but I figured you of all people could fix it up like knew. Besides it probably still sounds amazing. Play it for me?"

Taking a brief moment to tune the instrument by ear, Erik placed the violin under his chin, and closing his eyes to pull the bow across the strings. The sound was even more heavenly than the instrument Erik had made, Aminta had to concede. Perhaps it was the way Erik played, letting the music that swirled in his head come out into the world, so delicate and passionate it could tug at the hearts of the hardest of men. Aminta sat and listened in quiet awe, jealous of his talent to some extent but feeling immensely blessed to know and love someone with such a gift.

Erik smiled gently and replaced the violin to its case. "This is the greatest gift I've ever been given. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, there's more!" She told him. "This gift is slightly… well okay, a lot more controversial than the violin." She bustled off into her room and from there through the door into the torture chamber. Returning moments later, Erik caught sight of a tiny ball of grey and black fur curled up in her arms. The long-haired kitten stretched languidly, draping a foot over the side of Aminta's arm as if her purpose in life were to support him.

"I understand if you don't want to replace Ayesha, but I found him on my way to the market the other day and he was just so personable I had to take him in. If you don't want him there's a girl in my dressing room who will take him…" Aminta set the ball of fur on the floor, where it stretched again and took in its new surroundings. In enthusiastic kitten fashion, it stumbled curiously around the room, feet still far too big for its body.

"How on earth have you been hiding a cat, woman?" Erik demanded, though he clearly wasn't upset by the idea.

"He's been easy, actually. He sleeps and eats, and that's about it right now. It's hard to imagine but he's already considerably bigger than when I found him. So can we keep him?" Aminta asked, giving Erik her best puppy-dog eyes.

Erik chuckled. "I don't see why not, he seems charming. So long as you keep him from scratching the furniture and maintain his fur." He had missed having an animal in the house. Aminta was fantastic company, but when she left for rehearsals it would be nice to have a cat around again.

Aminta grinned and moved to kiss the masked man in gratitude before smiling on his mouth. "Ready for your last present?"

"You're spoiling me, Aminta." Erik told her. "You really didn't have to do any of this."

"Trust me, you're going to want this last present." She promised, and took hold of his hand to pull him to his feet. Erik raised a brow at her from under the mask Aminta turned, hand still in his to guide him to her bedroom, hips swaying some enticingly. When they were in the bedroom, Aminta moved to close the door behind them, realizing this was pretty pointless considering how secluded the entire house was from the world. Aminta leaned against the door with a smile, and reached out to pull Erik towards her. She guided his hands to her hips and kissed him deeply, ignoring the pressure of the mask on her lip.

Erik understood Aminta's intent now, and kissed her back. "Aminta, you don't have to do this…" He offered, self consciously. He wanted her, craved her even, but didn't ever want her to lie with him at all against her will, not after what had happened before.

"Trust me, I want to." She promised, with another firm kiss. "I've wanted to for a while, but it was too enticing an idea to celebrate your birthday this way." She kissed him again, eagerly. Erik was by now thoroughly convinced she wanted this as much as he did, and pushing his hesitations aside he returned her kisses just as eagerly.

They nearly fell into bed together, Aminta struggling to remove his mask amid peaks of pleasure, finally managing to put it aside to kiss him thoroughly. She was more than pleasantly surprised at his unabashed willingness to please her, and how little instruction he needed to manage. He certainly was quick on the learning curve, even if he hadn't been quite himself their first time. He was much less controlled this time around, allowing his instincts to take over. Both had been so pent up the past few months the act didn't last long, but it was breathtakingly glorious to finally find release in one another's arms.

Aminta breathed heavily, exhausted but unable to wipe the grin off her face. She felt under her pillow, and glanced over him to the floor before kissing his shoulder. "No knife this time, huh?" She teased gently.

Erik shook his head, and managed to pull his weight off her enough to drape kisses across her collar bone. "Not ever again." He promised between kisses, and Aminta kissed the top of his misshapen head.

"We have _got_ to do this more often." She breathed, toes already curling some at his kisses. Erik moved off of her, and her brow raised. "Where do you think you're going, Monsieur?" She asked, preventing him from sitting up by covering him with a leg and resting her head on his shoulder. Erik chuckled, and played with one of her curls lazily.

"Hey Erik? You don't sleep in that coffin, do you?" She asked, looking up at him quietly. It fascinated him that she could look at his unmasked face and still stay so close to him.

"I do." He admitted. "I don't sleep much though."

Aminta shuddered at the thought. It was so morbid, sleeping in a coffin... Did he really accept death so readily? "Why don't you sleep in here instead?" She offered, holding him close.

"This is your room. You're entitled to your privacy like I'm entitled to mine." He explained.

She propped her head up on her elbow to study him. "Erik, I don't mind letting you into my world. I _want_ you to come into my world. It scares me less than your world does. Sleeping in a coffin… it isn't right. You're not intruding. Not only is it your house, I'm offering to let you in. If I wanted my privacy as much as you want yours, I'd let you sleep in a coffin. But I don't want that for you."

"I don't mind it." He promised. "Besides, I hardly sleep at all. I'd wake you up coming in and out of bed…"

"I think you're severely underestimating my sleeping habits, Erik. You're looking at a girl who slept through the collapse of the World Trade Center, fifteen blocks away…" She suddenly realized Erik had no idea what she was talking about and shook her head. "Nevermind. Don't worry about me, Erik, I get plenty of rest. Besides, I might sleep better with someone else in bed with me. Especially if it's after amazing sex like that." She said, trying to entice him to agree with her.

"I do like my privacy, Aminta. You're much more open than I will ever be…"

"At least give it a try. One week in here with me. See how you like it. If you'd still rather sleep by yourself in a coffin, fine." She offered as a compromise, moving to place kisses on the scars across his chest.

Erik kissed her, and conceded. "Fine. One week."

"Don't make it seem like such a chore." She kissed back, pulling her back over him and kissing him more soundly. She trailed her fingers down his back, and very soon they were making a slower, sweeter kind of love that still managed to make Aminta's toes curl in pleasure. There was absolutely nothing this man couldn't do perfectly, she concluded.

The lovers were tangled up in bed, Aminta half way between sleeping and waking while Erik watched over her when Nadir came in. Spotting the pair in bed, even his dark skin couldn't hide the flush of his embarrassment. Aminta stretched lazily, making sure she was covered before turning over to address the man. "Nadir, you're early!" She scolded, and Erik couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I come bearing bearing bad news." The Persian's voice was urgent, and he continued in spite of his friends' indecency. "The Vicomte de Changy is in town, and plans to attend an Opera. I overheard Aminta's friend Monsieur DuBois saying he planned to seek help in uncovering the Opera Ghost. The last the Vicomte has heard of you is the article I published on your death, but once he hears you're alive from Monsieur DuBois he will surely show the boy where you are. Erik, it isn't safe to stay here anymore."


	26. Chapter 26

Aminta and Erik began to pack that very night. It had quickly gone from being one of the best days of Erik's life to one of the more difficult. It was hard to leave the house by the lake. He had lost track of how long he had been living there and when he had built it. The furniture he had built for Aminta could not be moved in the amount of time they had to flee. Nadir allowed the pair to dress and helped them pack their most important belongings.

Erik's ingenuity shone during those stressful hours. He went into the catacombs, and assigned himself the grisly task of finding a relatively fresh corpse to place in the coffin in his room. He dressed the mostly-skeleton in one of his suits, but kept his mask for himself. It was the only one he had, and was remarkably valuable monetarily as well as emotionally. It wouldn't do to leave it behind. Everyone was silently praying Raoul was too dim to notice the changed furniture and lack of dust in the apartment, While Nadir and Aminta finished packing, Erik sealed closed the door to the torture chamber. There wasn't enough time to restore the forest to its former glory, in spite of how desperately Erik wished to bring the men who hunted him to their knees.

"Where are we going to go, Erik?" Aminta asked, tying the last of the bag and wrapping the kitten in a make-shift sling to carry the thing without compromising her hands. The tiny ball of fur fell right asleep, thankfully.

"You are going to stay with Nadir." Erik said in a tone that beseeched her not to argue.

"I am going to stay with Nadir? You mean 'we' are, right?" She demanded stubbornly.

"No. I'd draw too much attention."

"Then I'm going with you wherever you're going."

"You have rehearsals, it'll arouse suspicion if you disappeared." Erik explained. He had been working all this out while she and Nadir had been packing. He would live on the outskirts of Paris for a month or two until the excitement had died down, and then come back for her.

Aminta shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not letting you run away, Erik. I've heard your stories, every time something happens you don't just lie low for a few days you leave the country and start fresh. You're not going to run off on me." Too many men had walked in and out of her life for her to take such news submissively.

"Go to the masquerade with Antonio. Appease him just enough to quell his suspicions. I'm only going just outside the city. I'll be keeping an eye on you, and we'll be together again by Christmas at the latest." He promised, surprised by her upset.

Aminta glared at him hard, and moved to the door that led up to the Rue Scribe. She gave the men an "after you" gesture to follow them up to the surface, silently carrying one of the bags. Erik could tell she was upset, but wasn't sure what to say to her. Them staying together would put both her and Nadir in danger, and he wasn't prepared to do that.

When they reached the surface, Aminta continued on towards Nadir's apartment without so much as a word to Erik. Nadir looked to the masked man sadly. "You're going to be okay?" he asked, taking the bag Erik was carrying. Their belongings would be safer in Nadir's apartment than they would be wherever Erik was going, he knew.

"I will be. Take care of her." Erik looked after Aminta as she walked away, hurt that she wouldn't tell him so much as goodbye.

"You know I will. Take care of yourself. We'll see you soon." Nadir clasped his shoulder fondly, and Erik nodded. Nadir moved off after Aminta, and Erik pulled up his hood to slip into the shadows, as unseen as many of the unmentionable people that wandered the streets of Paris.

When Nadir caught up to Aminta, she looked as though she were fighting back tears. He took her arm under his. "Slow down, child. I'm not nearly as quick as I was in my youth." Aminta obeyed him but was quiet. "Tell me what's wrong, Aminta. Erik's more concerned about your safety than his own. I have to admit this is the first time since I've known him that his own well being hasn't taken priority." Except perhaps allowing Christine to leave with the Vicomte in the first place, but that was another story.

She snorted in sarcastic amusion. "He isn't doing this for me, he's doing it for him. It's time for him to up and move again, and he doesn't want a deadweight dragging him down. I get it, but I'm not about to be happy about it."

"Aminta, that's not what's happening at all. Erik is good on his word. You are the only woman who has ever shown him decency in his entire life, do you realize that? Even whores have run away from him in fear, at the cost of their lives. He's not about to sacrifice you for loneliness on the open road." Nadir said, trying to reassure her.

Aminta only set her jaw tighter in response and continued walking to Nadir's apartment. The older man let them inside, and Aminta immediately moved to the guest bedroom she had occupied earlier that year after being attacked by Erik. No amount of coaxing would convince Aminta that this was right. There was too big a hole in her heart with him gone for this to be okay. Her father had left her and her mother when she was very young. Her first boyfriend had raped her and left soon after he had gotten what he wanted… This is simply what men do, she thought. As soon as the situation becomes too much to handle, they run.

She wasn't going to let this happen, not without a fight, she decided. Aminta had been working herself to the bone to try and make a life with this strange but beautiful man. She had given up life in the sun to be with him in the darkness, and he was running from her. Putting down the bags, Aminta moved to settle the kitten down, giving him litter, food and water before stepping out of the room again. "Nadir, I'm going out for a bit. I'll be back."

"Where are you going?" He asked curiously, since they had only just arrived.

"To give Erik a piece of my mind. I'll be back before morning." She told him. It was already growing dark, and she wasn't sure how long it would take to find a master of deception in the darkness.

He had claimed he would be on the outskirts of town… it was going to be a long night, she thought to herself. The outskirts of Paris were vast but her will was strong and her shoes were sturdy. She would look all night if she had to, but she would find him. She started off in the direction Erik had left in at the Rue Scribe. Her feet carried her yard after yard, mile after mile, searching every hooded figure for a glimpse of white porcelain.

When she reached the very outskirts of town, she had still not found the man. Here was the place none of the Parisian elite wanted to admit existed. This was the true underworld of Paris. Ladies of the night called out their prices to men who wandered the streets, so drunk they could hardly stand, a farcry from the relative secrecy and class of the Moulin Rogue. Rats were being sold as street food for pennies on the dollar. Aminta pulled her shawl around her more tightly, hoping Erik would show up somewhere obvious so she could leave this horrible place.

She walked gingerly through town, afraid she stood out like a sore thumb as she was more freshly bathed and better dressed than even the most self respecting woman she passed. No matter where she looked there was no sign of him. She took another step, and something hard crunched under her foot. Looking down, her heart dropped as she saw the white glimmer of porcelain, shattered into tiny pieces and ground into sand in the cobblestone. Panic flowed through her and she looked around wildly. "Erik? Erik where are you?" She called into the street, earning her odd looks from passers by. "Erik!"

A woman from the street corner pulled her aside and shook her some. "Calm yourself dearie, no need to cause a fuss. Who's this Erik you're looking for, maybe we've seen him."

Aminta was nearly shaking. She knew Erik without his mask could only mean something had happened to him. Taking a breath to steady herself, she spoke. "He's a tall man. He normally wears a white mask…"

The streetwalker looked surprised. "Not the ugly bloke they arrested earlier?"

"Arrested?" Aminta's heart sank even further. "Oh God, where did they take him, do you know?"

"Probably down a few blocks to the jailhouse. What's a girl like you want with a man like that? If you stick with me I can find you a much more handsome patron…"

Aminta wretched away from the woman, and ran through the streets, pausing only to ask more specific directions to the jailhouse. Upon finding it, she let herself inside without stopping to think of what she might do. The officer keeping watched looked startled to see such a pretty woman looking so distressed, especially on this end of town. "Mamzelle, what's the matter?"

"A man was brought here recently. A man with a face like death. Is he here?" There was such a tone of desperation in her voice that the guard couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

"Yes, he is. They say he's the Opera Ghost, from the Palais Garnier. The chief of police is glad to have him finally put away. Why do you-" 

Aminta cut him off. "What exactly are his crimes? How do you know he's the Opera Ghost?" Her mind was racing, trying to think of any way she could free him.

"Well, there's a witness against him. The Vicomte de Changy says the same man kidnapped his wife once, and that it must be the same man who's murdered several people. He's also been extorting the Opera for ages. The word of a Vicomte'll have him string up by tomorrow night I'm sure." The Guard informed her.

She covered her mouth, and couldn't stop her tears. "Please, Monsieur, may I see him?"

The girl looked so pained, the Guard couldn't resist assenting to her plea. He allowed her inside past the main gate, through past the cells. It was a small jailhouse, with most of the cells empty. Those that were filled held inmates who slept sound on thin mattresses on the floor… except for one. In one cell sat a man hunched in one corner, as far away from the front of the bars as he could possibly arrange himself. His face was hidden in his arms and knees as he cowered like a whipped animal. Aminta crouched as close to him as she could get, which wasn't even close enough to touch him through the bars.

Looking up gratefully at the Guard, he left back to his post at the front of the building, curious about the girl who was so worked up over a murderous monster.

"Erik… Erik, can you hear me?" The figure didn't move. Only the slight movement of his chest gave away that he was alive at all. Aminta wiped at her eyes. "I'm going to try and get you out of here, Erik." She whispered. "I have to go now, but I'll be back. I promise." She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how sorry she was that she had last treated him with anger, in case she returned too late. But telling him this somehow felt like admitting that she could not save him, and she could not handle that thought at the moment. No, she would tell him how sorry she was after he was safe in her arms again.

Aminta was already forming a plan in her mind. She wiped her eyes and returned to the Guard. "Thank you for letting me see my brother." She told the man dabbing at her eyes. "He's been lost to my father and I for years. It's just so hard to see him like this…"

The guard looked sympathetic. "I understand. I have a brother who's in and out of this place more often than I'd like also."

"You've been so kind… When is it you're off? Perhaps I could take you to coffee? Surely you'll be exhausted from working all night." She asked, somewhat flirtatiously.

The guard smiled. "Half past five. I'm not sure anything is open then, but you're an angel for offering."

"Let me bring you a pot then." She offered. "I do make a wonderful cup of coffee."

"All right. That sounds good, actually."

Aminta smiled at the man. "Great. Half past five it is." She waved coquettishly at the man as she slipped out of the jailhouse, taking the first carriage she could find back to Nadir's apartment. She shook the man awake from where he had fallen asleep in his reading chair. She explained the situation to the man as she bustled around the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee and moving to change into a more busty dress.

"Nadir, where do you keep your chloroform?"


	27. Chapter 27

It was five in the morning when Aminta sauntered into the jailhouse. Breasts pushed high and waist cinched tight with her most elaborate corset, she knew she was turning heads the entire trip to the jailhouse. And yet Erik had wanted to leave her, she mused. The guard looked exhausted, something Aminta had been counting on. He would be an easier target, and in case something went wrong they would have a full thirty minutes before his replacement came along on the half hour. The man perked up considerably when Aminta slipped in.

"Hello again Mamzelle." He smiled politely, though his eyes were not on her face. Aminta hid her selfconsciousness perfectly.

"Good morning, Monsieur. I made coffee and biscuits. I'm famous for them at home, I hope you like them." Aminta held up the tray enticingly.

"I'm sure I will." Replied the man flirtatiously. "Where is home for you?" He moved closer to her as she poured coffee into a delicate cup.

"England." She lied expertly, passing the man a cup and saucer. "I think I must be part French though, I much prefer coffee to tea. Oh silly me, I've gone and spilled on my new dress." She pouted. "Just my luck."

"Don't fret Mamzelle, I've just the solution." The man immediately produced a handkerchief from his pocket and wetted it with a bit of water from the bathroom faucet. "My sisters taught me this trick in case of just such an emergency." He told her, as he bent down to wipe the cool water over the stain.

He never made it completely back to his feet. Like lightning Nadir was behind him as he stood, a rag dipped in chloroform covering the guard's mouth and nose. Before he knew what struck he was out light a light on the floor, Nadir unable to support the weight of the young man. Aminta stooped over the guard to search him for his keys, patting his face gently in thanks and hurrying over to the cell Erik was being kept in.

Erik was hunched in the exact same place as before. If Aminta didn't know any better she would have thought he'd simply given up on life and died there in the cell. She knew he was too stubborn for that, and more afraid of death than he liked others to believe. She fumbled with the keys quickly while Nadir kept watch for anyone who looked important enough to have business in the jailhouse. Finally she found the one which opened Erik's cell, and she hurried over to him.

"Come on Erik, time to go." But Erik only cowered from her. "Look now's not the time for this, we have to go before the next shift starts." Erik didn't budge, even when Aminta pulled at him. "Nadir! I need a hand!"

Nadir came over and helped Aminta pull the man to his feet. Fortunately for them both Erik weight next to nothing, and though he struggled some initially he eventually allowed the pair to lead him from the cell and out onto the streets of Paris. Every little noise of the new day made him cringe. Aminta tied a scarf around his head, and explained to worried passers by that her brother was very ill. This not only stopped any and all questions, but quickly had people in their path moving across the street for them. Within an hour they had managed to all but drag Erik back to Nadir's apartment in a wealthier portion of Paris.

They sat the man on the sofa, and Aminta sat with him while brought out water. "Erik, what's wrong?" She asked, trying to turn his head so she could inspect him for any injuries. He resisted though, and turned his back to her. Aminta harrumphed. "You don't have to be such a child, Erik! Let me have a look at you you big baby. You didn't seem to mind me having a look yesterday morning." She pointed out grumpily, and forced his head in her direction. This time he conceded though never met her eyes. She seemed satisfied with what she saw, and reached up to peck his exposed lips. "That mask was too tight for you anyway, I remember those marks from before. We'll find you a new one." She promised, and he turned his head from her again.

"Erik, please tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't like cages." He stated plainly, and Aminta's frown deepened.

"You've been in a cage before?"

"I performed in a cage. I used to make lilies sing me requiems."

Aminta's jaw clenched furiously. "Who made you perform in a cage? It wasn't your mother, was it?" If it was, Aminta pledged to be the death of that woman.

Erik's eyes widened and he shook his head. "No, it wasn't Mother. The Gypsies made me perform."

She let out a breath at that. The thought of Erik in a cage, being forced to perform like some freak… it made her nearly physically ill. But if it was Gypsies there was virtually no way to right such a horrible, horrible wrong. Gypsy people were nomadic and highly xenophobic. They did not take well to outsiders, especially ones seeking revenge she imagined.

"You wouldn't have been put in a cage if you hadn't run off on us." She stated frankly. "Who recognized you?"

"The DuBois boy and Raoul de Changy recognized me not long after we parted. They followed me to the outskirts with the police and outnumbered me. If I'd had my lasso they'd all be dead." He added, in an attempt to save his pride. He had left the string of catgut in one of the bags they had packed, not wanting to keep such a valuable weapon on his person. It was a mistake he wouldn't make again, he thought to himself.

Aminta was seething. Antonio! Antonio had done this! She couldn't hardly wait to get her hands on him at rehearsal that night. Erik caught sight of the anger etched across her face, and began to emerge from his withdrawal. "Don't take any action against him, Aminta." He commanded suddenly, an idea forming in his mind.

"Why the hell not? He almost got you killed, all for what? Because I wouldn't go to the god damned Masquerade with him? The boy is absolutely psychotic, I'm going to beat him stupid." She sneered.

"He'll get what is coming to him, Aminta. Go to the Masquerade with him." Aminta's jaw dropped.

"Hell fucking no, I will not go to the Masquerade with him!"

"Do you trust me?" He demanded suddenly, and Aminta's brow furrowed.

"Well, yes… but Erik-"

"Go to the Masquerade with him. Don't let him see that you're upset. He must not know that you've stayed in contact with me after Christmas, least of all that you care for me. I don't care if thinks you're going with him willingly or because you have no other option. But go with him. Distract him. I'll take care of the rest."

Aminta's mouth opened to protest before a look of quiet understanding crossed her face. Whether she approved or not, Antonio DuBois would not be allowed to live to see November.


	28. Chapter 28

Erik had vanished again, much to Aminta's annoyance. He had left a note in considerably neater handwriting than when she had first met him (apparently he'd taken her suggestion to practice left-handedness to heart), stating only that she would see him on Halloween and that things would be better after then. She knew what Erik was up to, to some small extent. Whether she approved or not, she couldn't really say.

On the one hand, Erik's scheme almost undoubtedly involved murder. Murder was a crime, and a sin… not that she was Christian enough to really believe in such things. But still, the thought of Eternal Damnation was not a pleasant one. On the other hand, Antonio had not only put Erik's life at serious risk, but had completely and utterly humiliated him, opening up age old wounds and forcing Erik to relive a very painful time in his life. He had also indirectly harmed Aminta through harming Erik. If he had died that night, she wasn't sure what she would have done. She couldn't imagine life without him.

The more she thought about it, the more and more sure she became that she was in love with Erik. She had suspected it on some level for a while and had even told him once, but this didn't feel to her like the other times she had used that four letter word. It felt to Aminta like Erik was made for her. No matter how often or how many ways he found to get under her skin, she always found herself waking up to thoughts of him and falling asleep thinking of him. Her days felt empty with him gone like he was now, and though she resented him for it she knew she could look forward to feeling complete again when they reunited.

Aminta had only days to prepare for the Masquerade. She agreed to go with Antonio, though had refused to tell him her costume. She had something private in mind, a small tribute to her love that she didn't want Antonio marring. Besides, she had wanted to make it quite clear to the young man that she was not going out of any interest for him, and that it certainly was not a date.

She purchased a stunning white gown, with a lace-filled corset-like bodice and a lean, sweeping skirt made of silk. The dress itself seemed almost iridescent, the height of Parisian fashion. She also purchased a delicate, solid gold venetian mask. Rather than the full face mask, the mask she found covered only her eyes and the bridge of her nose in elaborate, almost lace-like gold. The effect of the thin gold lace-like mask made her look almost ethereal, she thought proudly. Her final costume piece could not be purchased but in pieces. Much to the entertainment of the ever-growing kitten, Aminta purchased pounds upon pounds of swan feathers, including their down, and began working furiously in the guest bedroom of Nadir's apartment.

In the ten days between Erik's rescue and Halloween, Aminta had created an Angel. Inspired by the champion of her dreams, Aminta carefully strapped the Stradivarius violin she had given to Erik only days before over her shoulder with a bit of leather, being careful to place the instrument low enough on her hip so as not to be jostled too much by the movement of her arms or the long, flowing wings draped from her back. She had considered using the violin Erik had made himself, but decided against it; as valuable as the Stradivarius was, the violin Erik had made was priceless.

When she entered the Masquerade, she was truly the vision of an Angel. Her usually careless curls were perfect and large, adding even more softness to her image. Even her movements, normally somewhat clumsy by Parisian standards, were soft and fluid. The only thing hard about her were her sharp green eyes that could not hide the biting wit the girl possessed.

Antonio approached her as she moved to the side of the foyer where the masquerade was being held. She had half hoped he wouldn't recognize her, but she supposed it destroyed the purpose of going with him if she avoided him all night. "Aminta… you look… _wow_." He finally managed to get out, eyes wide. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you actually were an Angel."

"Who says I'm not?" She demanded vaguely, which effectively caused Antonio to stop his stammering, as did the sight of the Stradivarius attached to her hip.

"I didn't know you played. May I?" He held out his and Aminta glared at him some.

"No, you may not." She answered sharply. "It doesn't belong to me. In fact I think its owner might be upset that I brought it."

"And who exactly is the owner of such a fine instrument?" Antonio inquired. Surely no one he knew, for he knew every string player in the Opera and none owned a Stradivarius.

"The Angel of Music." She stated so plainly Antonio almost thought she was serious. "Are we going to dance or what?"

Antonio led her out onto the dance floor, though the night wasn't at all like he had hoped. It was plain to him Aminta had not come of her own free will, and certainly not out of any desire to socialize with him. Why had she come, then? Perhaps she was interested in him, but was simply too stubborn to admit it after being so stand offish for so long. Maybe all she needed was a little encouragement.

After a solid hour of dancing, Aminta caught sight of some of the girls she shared a dressing room with and waved. "I'm going to go say hello." She told him. "Would you mind getting me some champagne?" If she had to be with him all night, she was going to need the assistance of alcohol.

The young violinist agreed, and went to get Aminta a drink while she moved off to the side of the room to field questions about whether or not she was seeing Antonio again. How the Opera loved to gossip, she thought coldly. "No, we're not seeing each other." Aminta promised, looking back over her shoulder for the young man. If there was one thing she learned being a young woman in New York, it was to never take your eyes off your drink. But Antonio wasn't to be found. She excused herself from the girls, stating that the boy was so dim he had probably gone all the way to the kitchen for drinks. Really, she knew something more sinister was at hand.

Aminta moved to where she had last seen Antonio approach a waiter, towards the back of the foyer near the entrance of the theatre. She peered into the theatre, surprised to find it dimly lit. It was off limits during the party, but perhaps an amorous pair had snuck in for some privacy and turned on some of the lights…

In the dim lighting, she could see the figure of Antonio on the stage. He was speaking at a normal volume, but the acoustics of the room carried his voice throughout.

"Show yourself, you coward! I'm not sure how the hell you got out of that cell you ugly bastard, but you don't fool me. I know you're as mortal as the rest of us. You think you can go around raping women, murdering people and nothing's going to happen to you? Come and face me like a man." Antonio demanded, chest puffed. How like a peacock he was, she thought, showing his feathers but without any claws or fangs with which to back up his words.

"I would rather be loved and a coward than unloved and a knight." Announced Erik from someplace unseen. "As monstrous as I am, Aminta still chooses me over you. She chose to save my life, but has come to watch you die." He sneered.

Antonio reeled and turned to face the front of the stage, seeing Aminta's angelic figure in the doorway at the far end of the room. "Aminta... Is this true? This… creature is who you've been denying me for?"

"Yes, Antonio." She called to him, not daring to come any closer to the stage for fear of what Erik's next move would be. "And that 'creature' is more of a man than you will ever be, you arrogant prick."

Suddenly the lights all extinguished at once, causing Aminta to nearly jump out of her skin. As soon as the room had fallen into pitch darkness, a loud crash was heard from the stage. Almost immediately the room was lit again, only this time by the flames of a rapidly growing fire on the stage. There lied Antonio, pinned under a fallen catwalk that was rapidly being consumed by flames. No matter how hard the young man tried to free himself, the weight of the catwalk would hardly budge above him. Down dropped Erik like a panther upon his pray, landing gracefully just upstage of Antonio's struggling form. He leaned in close to Antonio and whispered something Aminta could not hear before standing and moving towards Aminta. Erik's face was mostly covered by a Venetian style mask in the style of a gargoyle. It was not as protective of his face as his old porcelain mask, but it was plenty for a Masquerade. He took her hand in his and laced their fingers, pulling Aminta away.

She could not stop staring at the now screaming figure of Antonio, crushed under the burning catwalk. Aminta resisted Erik's pull, brows furrowed under her own mask. "You're not just going to leave him there are you? He'll burn alive…"

"He will experience the hell he made me relive, and the one he very nearly sent me to." Erik said plainly. "Hopefully, this is not the worst of his tortures." Aminta frowned deeply, but moved with Erik out of the room as it began to fill with smoke.

They moved along the edges of the Masquerade towards the main entrance of the Opera, unnoticed. Aminta tugged him to a stop just inside the door. "Wait, just a second." She told Erik, and moved to the managers.

"Monsieurs, I have two things to tell you. Most urgently is that the theatre is on fire. I think a man may be trapped… but I don't know that there is any hope for him. You must call the fire brigade now if you want to save the theatre. Second is that I resign. A Persian man will be by to collect my final check." As the managers rushed off to see if Aminta was being truthful about the fire, she hurried back to Erik at the door. Together they left the Opera towards Nadir's apartment in town.

Nadir was asleep by the time the pair got in, and they both retired to the guest bedroom. Aminta removed her costume without so much as a word to Erik.

"What did you tell the managers?" He inquired to break the silence, putting the Gargoyle mask aside and moving into bed.

"That the theatre was on fire, and that a man was trapped. I don't think anybody will be able to pull him out, but my conscience wouldn't let me leave him like that. I also resigned." This last piece of news caused Erik to raise a brow.

"Why would you resign? Magic Flute was to be performed, I had planned to train you to play the Queen of the Night. The role would have made you a star…"

"Because in spite of how sick and twisted you are sometimes, I love you. Which I guess makes me pretty sick and twisted too. I know you like your privacy Erik, but I love you and I know you love me, and I want to spend my life with you. Not just visiting you, _with_ you. I'm not going to live here while you live who knows where, just so I can be on the stage. That isn't what I want out of life." Aminta moved into bed, not really looking at him. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know his reaction or not.

Erik's brow furrowed, and he moved into bed with her to hold her. "I don't know where we'll go, or what we'll do for money."

Aminta rolled over to face him. "I have some money saved, so do you. It's enough to buy us a small house and some land somewhere quiet. We won't really need much money after that, if we can manage to grow most of our own food. I can teach English or cello or something to bring in whatever else we need. I saw those music boxes in your room. You could make more and sell them."

"When my mother passes I'll inherit her estate. We could live off that if it comes to it. But what will we do with our time. You and I both get restless far too easily." Erik pointed out, and Aminta knew this was true.

"You could restore the house. I'm sure with our budget it won't be much of a place. I'm sure we'll wind up with kids; I got pregnant after one roll in the hay, clearly neither of us is sterile. Educating and raising them would be time consuming enough. Working on the land would be until then."

Erik nodded, seeming for the most part satisfied with her answer. "We'll start looking for a house tomorrow then."


	29. Chapter 29

Aminta was one year old when her parents had begun fighting violently. The two bedroom apartment was not nearly large enough to keep out the sounds of shouting from the kitchen as baby Aminta slept in her crib. She awoke with a cry, upset at having to be awake when she was so utterly exhausted. Her cries went unanswered, though. Oh, her mother shouted at her father for waking the baby, but neither parent went to check on the girl or made any effort to cease the fighting so she could return to sleep. Aminta cried and cried, alone and neglected until a soft sound washed over her. She stopped crying and yawned as what sounded increasingly like music flowed through her developing mind. A soft voice sang her a gentle lullaby, urging her to return to sleep. It continued to sing to her throughout the night, allowing her peaceful rest through the slamming of doors and the shouting of obscenities.

It was the first, but not the last night Aminta would head the voice. She always felt an overwhelming sense of peace and calm when the voice would sing to her, and she was grateful for it as she aged. It was there to sing to her while her mother and father fought, or while her father talked lovingly on the phone with his mistress. It was there when she was four years old and her mother broke all the plates in the house after finding out her father had filed for divorce and left the country. It was there for her when her mother cried every night for a week when she didn't even have to fight for custody of her daughter.

When Aminta was eight years old, the voice began speaking to her as well as singing. It was the Angel of Music, it said, her Guardian Angel. It would tell her stories of heaven, and of a great war that was going on for control of all the world's souls. "I am too mild mannered for war." The voice told her. "So I was sent to Earth to protect the souls that are already here."

As she Aminta grew older her mother began to grow worried about her imaginary friend The Angel of Music. She had read The Phantom of the Opera to her daughter multiple times, and was certain this Angel was just a fantasy brought on by the story Aminta adored so much. But still, it didn't seem healthy for a girl of ten years old to spend all of her free time alone in her room with her books, talking with an Angel nobody but she could hear. And so Aminta's mother enrolled her in cello lessons and in ballet, anything to preoccupy her daughter with activities that involved other children.

This seemed to work, for a while. Aminta excelled at both subjects. She had a dancer's build, with a lean frame and a delicate face, and long, lithe fingers which allowed her to easily play chords on the cello children several years her senior were struggling with. Nearly every hour of Aminta's day was spent in school or in practice; Aminta's mother was certain the girl no longer had time for an imaginary friend. She soon discovered she was very wrong; one night when she went to tuck Aminta into bed after cello practice, she heard the little girl's voice telling the darkness of her room about the difficult portion of some song or another she had mastered that day.

Starting around twelve years old, Aminta realized that not everybody had an Angel of Music like she did. After being ridiculed for writing about her Angel in school, she learned quickly that she should not ever talk about her Angel to anyone. "Angel?" She asked one night, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. "Why don't you talk to everyone? My teacher thinks I'm imagining you… Mom does too."

"I am not everyone's Guardian Angel." The voice stated simply.

"Does everyone have a Guardian Angel?" She asked.

"Yes, they do. But there is a rule that Guardian Angels are not supposed to come into contact with your world, except to protect and comfort their wards."

"Why can I hear you then?"

"Most Angels simply are not capable of breaking God's rules. But I was made to produce music… God initially made me mindlessly obedient like his other servants, but soon realized that my music was dull and heartless. When he gave me freedom of thought and feeling, I lost my ability to mindlessly follow, but gained the ability to create music."

Aminta's eyes widened. "I don't want you to get in trouble just because you talk with me!" She told the voice, though she suddenly thought about what it would be like to go through life without her constant companion.

The voice chuckled melodically. "Don't fret for me, Dear Aminta. It is a risk I gladly take. I enjoy your company as much as you enjoy mine. Sleep now."

"Sing me a lullaby?" Aminta asked, and the voice obeyed. Within moments Aminta had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep.

She was fifteen and three quarters years old when she met Mark. Mark was tall and handsome, if something of a bad-boy. His jeans were full of holes, and his leather jacket smelled intoxicatingly like cigarettes. Aminta had been fascinated by him from the moment she met him. He was three years older than her, going to the local community college. They had met at a party through a mutual friend and hit it off immediately. Mark had brought along his guitar, and was impressed by her ability with it when he asked if she played. He was also more privately impressed with her dancer's figure coupled with ample breasts, even if she hadn't quite grown into her face.

The Angel knew right away the boy was trouble, and told Aminta so. For the first time, Aminta got upset with him. "You're just saying that because I've been talking to him more than you."

"I am not, Aminta. I enjoy your company but my duty first and foremost is to protect you. The boy means harm."

"For the first time in my life someone thinks I'm special, Angel. You have no idea how that feels. He thinks I'm pretty and talented, and he actually likes me for me. I'm not going to just tell him to shove off because some voice in my head told me to. He'll think I'm nuts!" She argued, stubbornly.

Suddenly there was light in the darkened room, and a tall figure stood in the hallway. It wore a white robe, protecting its modesty, and emanating the light from within itself. Its wings were soft and downy, and at its hip was strapped a simple, but beautiful violin. Aminta's heart caught in her throat at the sight. She was at a complete and utter loss for words when the angelic figure spoke. "I am not just a voice in your head, Aminta. I am the Angel of Music. Your Angel. I am asking you as your Angel, your friend, as a soul that has loved you and cared for you since before you were born, please be rid of the boy. He means you harm."

"I… Okay. Okay, I'll tell him I can't see him tomorrow."

Suddenly the figure was gone, and Aminta felt oddly alone. "Angel?" She called into the room, but there was no answer. She had never felt this alone in her entire life. It was as if a void had suddenly opened in her soul; for the first but not the last time, she felt incomplete, as if an entire piece of her were missing. It was then that she realized she was in love with the Angel of Music.

Aminta did not call off her relationship with Mark the next day, or even the day following that. Every day that her Angel didn't answer her calls was another day she spent more and more of her time with Mark. What she didn't know was the punishment that was in store for her Angel, and how deeply it would affect her for the rest of her life.

The Angel of Music had disobeyed the command of God. Not only had he communicated with and shown himself to his ward, he was being accused of loving. This was a capital crime in the Kingdom of Heaven; to love a mortal soul meant certain banishment. It compromised the clarity of thought and the clockwork-like functioning of the realm in which all Angels lived, high above the heaven of the Mortals. Fortunately, most Angels were not capable of love. The free-thinking Archangels were among the only servants of God who were could commit such an atrocity as loving a mortal, but all were too well trained, too loyal to their God to even consider such an act. The Angel of Music was the only Angel without rank capable of love, and he was accused of being in love with a mortal soul.

"Do you agree that you are guilty of your charges?" Commanded Michael, weary from a lifetime's battle against his enemies of the underworld.

"I do, Brother. But brother… what is Music without love? Without passion and romance? I have given mankind the ability to write music about love without ever truly knowing what it means to love. And now I know. I did not mean for it to happen. It simply did. I never realized it until this new threat of harm came upon her-"

Michael interrupted. "Is it the threat of harm that worries you, Brother, or is it jealousy?"

"… Perhaps it is both, Brother. I cannot say." Jealousy… Jealousy was an even more unspeakable crime than love.

"Brother. Upon hearing your confession, I sentence you to watch the Mortal come to harm. Your reaction during that time will determine whether you are allowed to keep your wings."

Panic entered the Angel of Music then. Aminta coming to harm… this was the worst possible punishment for a Guardian Angel to endure. Erik knew it would be infinitely more difficult for him than for other Angels, who could not feel emotion as he did. Where they would only feel the pang of failure, the Angel could already feel the pain of heartbreak rising within him.

Aminta had not heard from her Angel in over a week. She was starting to wonder if it had all be some strange dream. Mark had taken her to coffee and a movie that night. Aminta knew her mother would be working late, doing the costume fittings for the Lion King down on Broadway. She knew her mother would never approve of Mark, but knowing she wasn't home gave Aminta the courage to invite him inside. It would be a move she would forever regret.

The Angel nearly went mad as he was forced to watch, restrained by Holy forces and unable to look away. He watched heartbrokenly as they kissed, and shouted ferociously when Mark struck his dearest Aminta across the face. The normally mild mannered Angel struggled violently against his hold as the rape took place, calling out her name and praying to God and to Satan, to anyone who was listening to let her hear him, to let her know that her Angel had not abandoned her.

It was that night that Aminta decided there were no Guardian Angels. There was no such thing as the Angel of Music, and there certainly was no merciful God in Heaven.

Upon returning to the Kingdom of Heaven, The Angel of Music was met with his final punishment. His wings were stripped from him unceremoniously, and his once ethereal features were torn to shreds. While in Heaven he was beautiful, his life on Earth among mortals would be one of ugliness. He was to be separated from his love by time and distance, so that their paths should never cross. Upon his death, the once-Angel would be sent to Purgatory, to contemplate his crimes with the rest of the mortals. Even if he were judged worthy of entering the Kingdom of Heaven, he would never again attain the status of Angel he had once held. He would simply be another soul.

When Aminta awoke in their small house in the country, there was the sting of tears in her eyes. She turned in bed to face Erik, who was already awake and watching her sadly.

"You dreamed it too, didn't you?"


	30. Chapter 30

They described their dreams to one another, each one surprised at the accuracy of the other one's descriptions. They had literally had the exact same dream. The most phenomenal thing to Aminta was how accurately Erik was able to describe the world she came from. He had described what she knew to be electric lights, denim clothing, Mark's leather jacket… Things that simply didn't exist in his world. She was surprised by the dream herself, remembering things about her childhood she had long since repressed. She never remembered having an imaginary friend, but come to think of it she had… and it had in fact been someone she called the Angel of Music.

Aminta was sitting up in bed, while Erik had moved to the chair by the fireplace he had begun repairing the night before. Winter had begun and while it hadn't started snowing yet it was a good twenty nine degrees Fahrenheit Aminta guessed. As soon as the next storm came through there would be snow on the ground, and the pair would be hurting if they didn't get the holes in the roof fixed. She rubbed her face. "So what does this mean?"

"I don't know any better than you do." Erik stared into space, trying to sort everything out in his mind. "I'm inclined to think it's all just a bizarre coincidence."

"Coincidence? Come on Erik I'm as reasonable as the next person, but how do you explain some of the things you saw? I never told _anybody_ some of the things you saw, not even you. There's no way you just imagined them perfectly, exactly the way they happened. Besides, stranger things have happened." She pointed out.

"Stranger than the idea that I was once an Angel? Stranger than the idea that a man who has murdered man and woman, young and old, most of which without thought, a man who has abused drugs, who has blasphemed repeatedly, who has denied the existence of God was once an Angel?" Erik demanded, not wanting to believe it as much as reason told him it was impossible.

"_I'm_ here, aren't I? I somehow managed to come from 2002 to 1882, and why? Because I sang some lullaby a voice in my head that might actually have been you once sang to me. That is the _only_ weird thing that happened the day I came here, Erik. It was sunny outside, there were people taking tours of the Opera. Nothing was out of the ordinary, except that I heard that melody and remembered a couple of words to a lullaby. And now I'm here. Too much has happened for this to be some weird dream I'm having. It's too real." Aminta held the ever growing kitten that had jumped into bed with her, drawing comfort from his purring warmth.

"I know. I know. But I can't explain it any better than you can." He told her, putting an end to the conversation. Aminta flopped back into bed with a sigh, and the cat stretched himself out beside her still purring loudly. Erik stood from his chair to go to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Aminta called to him from the bedroom. "We're making you a new mask today whether you like it or not." She reminded him pleasantly, entertained by his obviously annoyed silence. He had been wearing an ill fitting mask she had gotten him at an art shop just inside Paris, and it had begun cutting into his skin even more than the porcelain one had. She had an idea to make him a mask of perfect fit, but Erik was being stubborn about letting her so close to his face. Kissing her he didn't mind anymore, but letting her study him for hours he didn't like the idea of at all. She didn't mind him not wearing the mask at all, but he was more comfortable with it on especially now that they were in a house with windows. The house was remote, a half day's horse ride away from Paris at least and well off the main road, but Erik had been underground so long the daylight made him nervous.

Aminta moved to eat breakfast with him when it was ready, and got out a large mixing bowl as well as a strange substance from the bathroom. "Sit." She commanded when Erik made to move into another room to busy himself. She pointed to a dining table chair she pulled out from the side of the table, and Erik begrudgingly obeyed.

"So, I learned this in one of my theatre make-up classes. I'm going to make a mold of your face, make a model out of that, and then form a mask around the model." She explained. "It'll take me a few days, but I promise by the time I'm done you will have the best fitting mask you've ever worn."

"I don't like this." Erik told her, watching her mix the contents of the bowl nervously.

"Well that's okay, you can go without a mask. But you're not wearing that leather thing I got you anymore, you'll get an infection." She moved to sit in his lap, straddling him. Erik raised a brow at her, surprised by her forwardness. Aminta kissed him with a smile and patted his chest. "Maybe later if you behave." She told him. She set the bowl of flour and clove water on his lap between them, and began to dip strips of linen in it. She carefully pressed the wet, sticky strips of fabric onto his face. She was immensely careful around his cuts, glad she thought to add clove to disinfect the milky looking substance. Every nook and cranny of his face was found an carefully molded before Aminta began to add layers to stabilize the form. She left his eyes and nostrils uncovered, papier-mâchéd everything else down to his neck. She wanted to mold his entire face, and make the mask from there. Molding only the portion he wanted covered wouldn't do her any good.

Erik was clearly self conscious, but was very patient with her. He was still when she told him to be still, and turned when she needed him to turn. He sat still to allow the papier-mâché to dry while Aminta went and washed her hands. Aminta returned with a wet towel, and straddled Erik again to blow on the strips of fabric while they set. After an hour or so, Aminta very carefully pulled the stiffening strips of linen off his face, inspecting the inside to make sure none of the strips had pulled. Satisfied with her work, she set the papier-mâché up out of the reach of the cat to dry, and returned to Erik to clean his face with the damn towel, tending neatly to his cuts. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" She asked, patting his shoulder reassuringly and standing to rinse the cloth.

"I've never seen papier-mâché used as a mold. Very creative." Erik conceded, replacing the leather mask to his face.

"I'm not the one who came up with it, but I'm glad I got such high marks in that class." She smiled. "Honestly never thought it'd come in handy. I'm going to take a bath. You did get the hot water working, right?"

Erik nodded. "I did. Save the water, I'll use it after you."

Aminta smirked at him a little. "You could always use it with me…" She suggested coyly. Erik chuckled.

"Maybe tomorrow. It looks like a storm might be coming, I want to use the rest of the daylight to fix the roof." He kissed her and moved to put on one of his warmer coats to venture out onto the roof. Aminta decided she would simply join him when he went in for his bath, and moved to pour the hot water. The past day or two she had been experiencing horrible pre-menstrual cramps, and was grateful for the heat. Not ten minutes after she slipped into the water, her bleeding for the month began. This confused her a little, as usually her bleeding was relieved by the water. In her twenty three years she had never once begun her period in the water.

She quickly realized why her bleeding was so persistent, and she darted out of the bath with a scream. She was shacking violently in the corner of the bathroom still stark naked when Erik rushed in.

"What is it, what's wrong." He touched her shoulder as she cowered and sobbed hysterically and pointed a shaking hand towards that bath. Erik looked where she pointed, and his heart sank when in the soft pink water he saw a small pink mass of tissue no larger than the first knuckle of his thumb, shaped a bit like a kidney bean in the way it was curled. Erik realized with horror, what the tiny lump of tissue was; Aminta had miscarried their second child.


	31. Chapter 31

Erik couldn't stand to look at Aminta for a week. This had been his fault, he knew. The potion he had made her had made her incapable of bearing children. And what was worse, she clearly was adept at conceiving… but he found it very unlikely that she would be able to carry a baby to term. It was because of the draught he had given her for fever, the draught that had killed their first child. It had no, with little doubt, killed their second. How many more would it kill before Aminta was too old and gray to conceive at all? It wasn't something Erik had the strength to think about. The strongest pang of guilt was felt when he realized he had neglected to tell Aminta that it was the potion that had terminated her first pregnancy. He had no idea how to break the news to her that because of it she may never be able to bear children.

Aminta handled the situation much better than she had at the loss of their son. Perhaps it was because she had not know she was pregnant, she thought. Or perhaps she was simply becoming numb to loss. She found ways to occupy her time when it seemed sadness would overwhelm her, helping Erik was household chores and doing more of the cooking. She went into town to visit Nadir and give him the news. The man was sympathetic, as she expected he would be. He was also carrying mixed news.

"I was approached by an interesting gentleman several days ago, I thought you might like to hear about him." Nadir told her. She asked him to continue, and he obliged. "He was an investigative writer, he said. A French man, Leroux I think his name was. He was curious about the Opera Ghost."

This news was met with wide eyes from Aminta. "Really? What did you tell him?"

"Nothing yet. I wanted to speak with you and Erik first. I didn't feel it was my place to say anything which might put either of you at risk of being discovered."

"I'll talk to Erik. But I think it's important that someone speak to him." Normally Aminta's first instinct was to hide Erik away and shield him from the world as much as he needed and desired to be shielded… but without the story of the Phantom of the Opera, she might never have arrived here at all. Her head was not built for science, but she was relatively certain there was some sort of paradigm involving time travel and altering the past. "Did you get his address?"

Nadir handed her a business card, with "Gaston Leroux" printed neatly on the front and a small address printed just below. Aminta thanked the aging man and kissed both cheeks before rushing home to see Erik.

"Erik! We need to talk." She said, brushing snow off her coat as she slipped inside, stepping over the constantly growing mass of fur windings its way clumsily between her feet. She reached down to scratch the cat's head before hanging up her coat.

"Yes, I think we do." Erik answered, sitting in a chair by the book case, examining a glass of wine intently, reluctant to look at her. She was confused by this strange gesture, and frowned a little.

"Is something the matter?"

Erik hesitated before finally taking a long drink from the glass. This being nearly the bottom of his third glass, he was finally finding the strength to talk to her. "I'm the reason Adrian died, Aminta. It wasn't the fever that killed him, it was the draught I made for Nadir to give you to break it. That draught is also probably why you miscarried. And why you will probably miscarry again."

Aminta had no choice but to sit before he legs gave out under her. She stumbled to the seat near him, shaking some. Whether it was out of anger or sadness, Erik couldn't tell. "You… you gave me… why didn't you tell me?" She demanded harshly.

"I didn't have a choice. It was save you and lose the baby, or lose both. I didn't stop to think that the effects might be permanent. Even if I had… I think my choice would have been the same." He admitted.

"An easy choice for you to make! You have no idea what I went through! Sure you hurt, but it's not the same as feeling its heartbeat, stopping everything because it might be kicking. I wanted to die with him!"

Erik was growing angry now too. "You call me selfish and childish for the things I do, but you're no worse. So you lost a son and miscarried another, well so did I. I may not have hurt the same way you did, but I nearly lost you as well. You might not have felt that pain but I would have lived with it for the rest of my life. Losing Christine drove me mad, losing you would kill me. You and what it is that we have is my reason for living, and you would take that away from me just to ease your pain! You are a selfish child just the same as you accuse me of being."

The young woman stood and slapped Erik hard across the face, knocking the ill fitting mask off entirely. She stormed into their bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It wasn't moments before the door was reopened, with a furious unmasked Erik stalking right behind her. "Don't you dare walk away from me Aminta. Do you remember what you told me? I love you, and you love me, and no matter how much I like my privacy you wanted to share your life with me. Well this is it Aminta, and there's no running away from it now. This is the life YOU wanted for us. We're either going to share our lives or we're not, and if we are I will not stand to be treated like this."

"THIS is not the life I wanted for us. I wanted us to tell stories and sing and make music. I wanted you to read to me again, I wanted us to make love every night, in the bath, on the table, anywhere we damn well pleased because this is our world. We're safe here, and you're still hiding from me." She accused. "You're still hiding behind that damned mask and your secrets."

"I didn't mean to keep this from you Aminta. It was never my intent. It was hours before you woke after your fever broke, I was too distraught to even think about it. Time passed, and there was never a time to bring it up." Erik spoke in his defense, but he knew she wasn't listening to what he was saying.

"Until now. Until after another child has died because of you. What's the grand total of innocent deaths now, Erik? Two children of mine, one of Nadir's. How many in the gypsy camp you slaughtered? How many in Per-" It was Aminta who was slapped this time, stopping her sentence short in stunned silence. Erik immediately regretted his actions, curling up the hand that had slapped her and turning to slam his fist hard against the wall. Attempting to steady his breathing, he turned back around to find Aminta slumped onto the floor, crying silently. Erik kneeled to help her to her feet, and she pounded hard on his chest, struggling against his grip.

"I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…" She cried, and Erik's heart broke. He knees threatened to give out under her again, and she fell against Erik with a sob. Clutching at his shirt she cried into his chest, Erik supporting most of her weight as she did.

He wrapped his arms around her, never wanting to let her go. Whether she truly hated him or not, he needed her in his life. He held her tightly and her sobbing slowed, though her chest still rattled with uneasy breaths. Erik kissed the top of her head, wishing he could comfort her, wishing there were some way to make everything better. But there wasn't. The past could not be undone. He buried his face in her hair, and quietly she turned her head up to meet his lips. Erik kissed her deeply, the heartbreak he felt at her hatred radiating from him so strongly Aminta nearly began to cry again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." She promised him, cupping his misshapen face in her hands and kissing him again. "I don't hate you. I love you." She kissed him repeatedly, swearing her love as often as she had sworn her hatred. Jumping slight, she wrapped her legs around him allowing Erik to carry her weight. Never letting their lips part, he carried her to the bed and laid her down. She had already begun to make those precious little sounds Erik loved so as they fumbled their way under the sheets to seek comfort and forgiveness from one another.

Aminta held her lover tight as he nibbled gently at her jawline and whispered sweet nothings into her ear. How immensely she loved this man, who somehow had the power to infuriate her one moment and make her whole body shake in delight the next. She loved him not in spite of his flaws, but because of them, and she knew in her heart he loved her for the same. Kissing his shoulder, she hugged him tightly to her, never wanting to let him go. His weight over her was more comforting than the warmest of blankets.

"What is it you needed to tell me before?" Erik asked, resting his head on her chest.

"Oh… I'd almost forgot. Do you remember the book you took from me, when we met?" She looked down her chest at him curiously.

"Of course. I don't think I've ever forgotten anything in my life." He remarked, a little coldly but Aminta knew it was not directed at her.

"Well the author visited Nadir, asking about you. Well, about the Opera Ghost. I think I'm going to go talk to him"

Erik looked at her horrified, and she shushed him gently. "Think for a moment, Erik. I know your gut reaction is to run and hide, but I won't let him come here. I'll go to him. I'll only tell him what I remember from the book, nothing you've told me. But it needs to be written. If it's not, I may never have ended up here. Even if I had you certainly would have killed me rather than kidnapped me for knowing your name." She pointed out, tracing patterns in his back.

After considerable hesitation, Erik nodded. "Okay. But only what you remember from the novel."

Aminta smiled to him gently, proud that he trusted her so. "Only what I remember, nothing more." She closed her eyes, resting quietly for a good few minutes before speaking again.

"Hey Erik?"

"Yes?" He answered, moving to kiss the tops of her breasts languidly.

"Will you marry me?"


	32. Chapter 32

Erik had thought she was kidding at first, but he very quickly realized Aminta was serious.

"No, I can't marry you." He told her, sitting up. Aminta frowned and sat up with him.

"You can, you just won't."

"No, Aminta, I can't. For one thing, I don't exist here and neither do you. As far as I know there's nothing documenting my birth, and an obituary stating my death." He pointed out.

"Then let's not do a formal wedding. Let's just go to a church and have a priest marry us or something."

Getting out of bed, Erik slipped into his clothes and moved into the kitchen, still holding the conversation. "Assuming that there is a God, which I'm not sure there is, I don't want to be married under Him. If He exists, He is cruel and malevolent, and not something I want to be associated with. I spent the first eight years of my life worshiping Him every day and I still wound up a social leper. And now let's assume that I really am the Angel of Music, and part of my punishment was to never be with you." He continued, returning to the room with two glasses of wine, handing one to her and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Getting married under God would paint a giant target on our backs, don't you think?"

Aminta frowned some. "Yeah, I guess it would. But Erik, I want to be able to call you my husband and mean it. When I go into Paris I want to be called Madame instead of Mademoiselle. If we're going to assume getting married would make us targets then we also have to assume it would guarantee we get to be together when we die, wouldn't it? Isn't there something about marriage being a union of souls? You're older than I am, Erik. Probably a lot older. And I don't care about that except that it means we probably won't die together. I'll have to wait years to see you again, if I can make it that long here alone. I'd feel better knowing I wouldn't have to spent ages looking for you wherever we go when we die. If I'm going to spend twenty years alone I want to know you'll be there on the other side."

"I'm not looking for a spectacle, Erik. Just you and me, a priest, and Nadir as our witness. That's all. So I can not be bothered when I go into town, and be at peace if something happens to you, and so you can be at peace if something happens to me." She told him, holding the wine but not seeming to realize it was in her hands.

"I'll consider it, Aminta. But right now I just don't think it's a good idea." Aminta frowned but nodded. She took a drink of her wine and spun it in its glass thoughtfully.

"Oh. I wonder if the papier-mâché set yet." She wondered suddenly, putting the wine aside and moved out of bed to stand up on a chair in the living room to reach the papier-mâché mold of Erik's face on top of the bookshelf.

Erik couldn't help but smile. "You do realize you're stark naked, don't you?"

Aminta snorted some, playfully. "Like you're complaining." She grinned back at him over her shoulder. Prodding the papier-mâché, she smiled and took it down. "Took it long enough. I didn't take the humidity into account when I started, I was afraid it'd never dry." She brought the mold back into their room, and moved to slip on the Persian robe she had stolen from him, mostly to keep the breeze off. The fireplace warmed the room nicely but it was December and there were still cracks in the windows that needed fixing. She cinched the robe around her waist and sat to inspect her handiwork.

"I'll go into Paris when it's light out and get some plaster. You know, I think I'll go talk to Monsieur Leroux too. It looked like his address was in the city. Do we need anything else?" It was such a long ride into Paris, she tried to get everything they would need for a while in one trip.

"Nothing I want you riding back with in the snow." Erik told her. It made him nervous when she rode into Paris, especially now that winter was well and truly underway.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She demanded, a hand on her hip. "I'm not a bad rider, all things considering."

Erik shook his head, amused. "No, considering I only taught you a month ago you're right, you're very good. But you've never ridden in the elements. Horses get anxious about the weather just as much as people do, he'll be harder to control."

"Loki's a big sweetheart." Aminta promised him. They had rescued the massive Clydesdale horse from a glue factory in Paris. He had been in perfect health, but his old owner had passed away. Since no one claimed the beautiful animal, he had gone to the auction block. The bidding had been between Aminta and the glue factory, with Aminta able to outbid the factory just barely. A few more francs and she would have had to let the animal go. "It's not like he'd throw me or anything."

"That may be true, but he may go seek shelter somewhere you don't recognize, and then what would happen?" Erik pointed out, and Aminta had to concede. The horse was as sweet as could be, but he was also on the shy side, more prone to run and hide than tough out a difficult situation.

As soon as the sun was up, Aminta bundled up and saddled the horse to ride into the city. She warned Erik that if speaking with Monsieur Leroux took too long she would stay with Nadir instead of risking coming back in the dark, and Erik agreed that this was a good idea. It was a good half day's ride into Paris as it was, simply running errands often had her arriving home just as the sun set.

She decided she would see Monsieur Leroux before going to purchase Plaster of Paris. She wanted the man to inquire as little about her as possible, and such a strange material as plaster would undoubtedly be a conversation starter. The address was easy enough to find, and Aminta tied the horse some distance off to walk to the front door. Bundled up in scarves and cloaks, she hoped the man was home if only so she could get out of the cold for a few minutes.

The door was answered quickly by an older maid, who ushered Aminta inside upon seeing that she was a young woman. A man could wait in the cold, but it was terribly rude to allow a woman to freeze. "May I ask who calls?" She asked politely, serving Aminta a cup of hot coffee which she accepted gratefully.

"My name is Madame Mendelssohn. I'm here to speak with Monsieur Leroux. I believe I can help with his research on the Opera." She told the old woman, who bustled off to tell her master. Nobody needed to know Mendelssohn was her given name and not her "husband's".

An exceedingly young man entered the room, far younger than Aminta had expected. By her standards he was only a boy, surely no older than sixteen or seventeen years. It was still so surprising to her at what age people truly became adults here; she still felt like a girl herself sometimes at twenty three. "Good morning, Madame. I must say this is a surprise, I haven't told very many people about my research. Have we met before?" The young gentleman asked politely.

"No we haven't, but I believe you know a friend of mine, Nadir Khan. He mentioned to me that you were investigating the Opera. My husband and I both worked there for a time, and I thought I might be of some service to you."


	33. Chapter 33

The young gentleman moved to his office with his guest, moving to sit at the writing desk and offering Aminta the more comfortable sofa. "I hope you don't mind if I take notes, Madame?" Aminta shook her head and the gentleman smiled. "Did your friend tell you what it is I'm researching about the Opera?"

"No, he didn't." Aminta lied. "Just that you were asking about some of the stranger things that happened."

"That Madame is exactly what I am looking to hear about. Do you know anything of the man who called himself the Opera Ghost?" Leroux asked, enlivened by the subject matter.

Aminta raised a brow. "How do you know he is a man? I'm inclined to think anyone that goes around calling himself a ghost must be."

Leroux shook his head. "I have yet to see a ghost, Madame, and until I do I am inclined to think that anything capable of murder is simply abnormal rather than paranormal." The young man was much brighter than Aminta had assumed him to be by his age. This might not be as easy as he thought. "At any rate, what is it you know about the Opera Ghost?"

"More than I would care to, Monsieur." She told stories of the Opera Ghost taunting the ballerinas, and his strange working relationship with Madame Giry. She told him of the "Incident" in its entirety, of how Christine Daae had gone missing and was surely taken by the Opera Ghost, about Don Juan Triumphant and the murders of several workers at the Opera as well as the death of Monsieur Piangi, the leading man at the Opera during the time. She told of the Masquerade ball during which the Opera Ghost had made ludicrous demands for money and to have his Opera performed. She told of how she had seen his death in the paper, and stopped there. She didn't dare go into details about Nadir's adventure with Raoul into the bowels of the opera, for how could she have known?

Monsieur Leroux too remarkably detailed, neat notes at his desk while Aminta told her story. When she had finished, he turned again to face her. "I must say, that is really quite remarkable… but I do have a few questions for you. What is it exactly that you did at the Opera?"

Adrenaline pumped through Aminta's veins as she continued, giving information she had not rehearsed and praying to anyone who was listening not to let her trip up over her lies. "With all due respect Monsieur… I'd rather not say. You see I don't work there anymore but it might mar my reputation if my peers were to think of me gossiping. I wouldn't bother inquiring about me either." She added quickly. "I haven't been entirely honest with you. My name is not Mendelssohn. If you'll forgive me I'd really prefer to remain anonymous."

The young man nodded and put his pen aside, folding his hands in his lap. "With all due respect to you, Madame, I get the feeling there are other points of information you have not been honest with me about. You know him, don't you?"

Aminta couldn't help but gawk at that, her reaction more than enough to tell Leroux he was correct. "While I don't doubt your story Madame, I do wonder how much more of it there is to tell. What exactly are you hiding?"

"I… How did you know?"

Leroux laughed. "Madame, I may be young but I am no fool. I am very well educated; why next fall I will be beginning my studies in Law here in Paris. I write and investigate purely to satisfy my own curiosities, and because of my love for investigation I have become very good at it. I'm sorry if this puts you in an awkward position, but I swear to you on my honor that I will publish nothing I do not have express permission to publish. I am merely a curious mind, I am not looking to make a profit off of anybody. Please Madame, tell me what you know in its entirety."

Aminta gave the young man a once over. "Would you swear it on your life? Honor doesn't mean much to a woman like me these days." She told him. He looked startled by this, but nodded.

"Yes, of course Madame."

Aminta seemed satisfied by this. She took a breath. "I still refuse to tell you my name, for the sake and privacy of my husband. But my husband's first name is Erik, and he is… was, the Opera Ghost."

Leroux's eyes lit up, and he reached again for his pen and paper. Aminta stopped him sharply. "No notes! What I've told you is true in its entirety, but that is all I will allow you to publish. You can verify every word of it with the Persian man you spoke with before. He was there for the events, I've only heard them second hand." The young man seemed disappointed not to be able to transcribe her story, but obeyed and left his pen and paper alone.

"I didn't meet Erik until a year after the events of which I spoke of, but I had heard the stories and the rumors. You must believe me Monsieur, he was a truly gifted man. You must not paint him as a monster, it would shame his memory. You cannot begin to imagine what a difficult life he led." Aminta told him, wiping at her eyes.

The young man handed her his handkerchief, and she smiled some in gratitude. "He is really dead, then?"

Aminta nodded gently. "Yes. But he died some time after his obituary was published. He passed away some time ago, from an infection. If you inquire around the Opera they will tell you how he seemed to rise from the dead; everyone had seen his obituary, and so when he returned everyone was startled to say the least."

"Where is it he is buried?"

"I left him in a coffin, in our home beneath the Opera." She remembered the body Erik had brought in to throw off Raoul and Antonio if they made it so far into the house, and was certain it was still there. Leroux looked confused. "Do you know the tunnels the Communists move in? The labyrinth under Paris? My darling husband built a house for himself there, against the body of water that sits under the Opera. That was how he got into and out of the Opera so readily without ever being found."

"This truly is a remarkable story, Madame. How did you come to know about the strange affairs surrounding the Opera, if you weren't there to experience them?" He asked curiously.

"I did work for the Opera for a brief time. Between my husband telling me his side of the story and hearing the gossip about the incident, I pieced it together on my own. Monsieur Khan tells me the events are just as I've told them to you, though he will be able to tell you more about his own involvement. I'm sure once I've told him you know of my husband and his death he won't hesitate to divulge." Aminta told him, and Leroux seemed very pleased.

"Thank you Madame, for your bravery in telling me this. I promise you, your husband's name will not be marred. Once I've pieced together the story for myself, I will make sure the reader knows he has my sympathies." Aminta clasped the man's hands gratefully, and he took her to the door to show her out.

Rather proud of her performance, she went to purchase her materials for Erik's new mask as well as a brick of chocolate for herself before heading to Nadir's apartment to forewarn him about what exactly she had told Leroux and to spend the night out of the snow.


	34. Chapter 34

It was strange sleeping alone in bed again, Aminta realized after spending the night in Nadir's spare room. In only a matter of weeks, a few months at the most she had become so accustomed to the weight of Erik in bed beside her when she fell asleep, or the sound of him writing at the desk if he didn't join her. At the very least there was always their rather large kitten offering his weight on her feet or stretched out against her side. Aminta adored Nadir, but she would be grateful to be home.

How strange it was, that the small house on so much land was already home. It just seemed right. They had purchased the house and land together, with money the both of them had saved. Erik made physical repairs to the building every day, while Aminta worked at the inside to try and make the place comfortable enough for both of them. She had stuck with Erik's darker and more gothic tastes when choosing furnishings, even sneaking into the house by the underground lake on one occasion to bring up an ornamental Persian rug (with Erik's help of course; the rug had weighed immensely more than she had planned for!). Already the place felt like theirs even though they had owned it for hardly any time at all.

Aminta was up early in the morning to bid Nadir goodbye, gathering her modeling supplies and saddling up the massive roan Clydesdale outside. She was back home by two in the afternoon, to find Erik pacing like a nervous cat in the main sitting room. His relief was obvious when he saw her ride up to the house, and he moved to embrace her almost as soon as she had entered. Aminta hugged him back, curious about his concern.

"What's wrong? I told you I'd be back today, didn't I?" She reached up on her toes to peck him in greeting before going to the table to unpack her bags.

"I had this horrible nightmare, it's been worrying me all day considering the accuracy of my other dreams involving you." He told her, leaning against a wall to watch her unpack her supply of plaster and clay.

"What was it about?" She asked, though part of her really didn't want to know. He did have startling accuracy when it came to dreams about her. But they had all been about her past, surely he wouldn't be so accurate about her future.

"You had gone back to New York." He said simply, and Aminta understood what he meant. In his dream the forces that had brought her to him in the first place had decided to take her away again. She frowned and moved to hold him.

"I'm not going anywhere, Erik. If whatever brought me here decides it wants to take me back, it's going to have to drag me kicking and screaming the whole way there. There's nothing waiting for me there like there is here. Frankly, I'm not sure anybody has realized I'm even missing. I'm just a statistic back where I'm from. Single women go missing in New York once a week at least, probably more like once a day. I have nothing to go back to, and I swear I have no desire to return." She kissed him soundly. "My life is here, with you. And if we can't make it here, it's somewhere else, with you. And if we can't make it there we'll travel the world, but I'm not leaving your side."

Erik kissed her back just as soundly. He believed her, but he somehow felt the dream may not have been literal. Forces out of their control were working to separate them; he had felt it since he'd had the dream about her past. The dream was probably just a manifestation of the fear they were meant to be separated, or so he hoped.

Letting go of Erik, Aminta turned to begin work on his mask. Erik watched, fascinated as she very carefully mixed the plaster of Paris, and poured it into the papier-mâché mold she had made of his face. It felt like he learned something new about her every day. She was a wonderful cellist, something he hadn't know though she had mentioned briefly that she played. She was a better dancer than some of the corps de ballet he had seen over the years , and he loved to watch her dance around the kitchen with a broom, singing some song or another in English he never recognized. She was an artist and a singer as well… What struck Erik about her the most though was how he also adored her for what she couldn't do. She could follow a recipe but otherwise was a mediocre cook at best. Her French was good but her accent was strange, but charming. She was a little clumsy, frequently dropping things while she cleaned. Her temper could change at the drop of a hat, and it took very little to set her into a rage, but he wouldn't have her any other way.

Merely an hour after Aminta had poured the plaster it had set, and she carefully peeled away the papier-mâché covering. Erik was stunned at how accurate it seemed; he did not look at himself in the mirror very often, but this looked like an even more pale form of his actual face, scar for scar and line for line. It pained him to look at it, it was so accurate, and it pained him even more to watch Aminta study it so closely. How she could stand him, Erik would never know. But he was grateful for it every day, and was not about to remind her how hideous she was if she simply didn't notice.

Aminta sat at the kitchen table, and the rest of the world vanished as she worked. With wet hands she molded pieces of an off-white, eggshell colored clay onto the plaster. Her hands smoothed out every line with surprising precision. When she was done, a clay mask looked splendid. The cheekbones were defined where Erik's naturally would sit, eyebrows were and a proper nose were shaped in perfectly. The mask was thin and light-looking, thinning out more at the edges so it flowed from his actual flesh to the mask seamlessly, instead of squaring off as the porcelain had. The mask would cover the same as the porcelain one, but Aminta hoped it would be more comfortable for both of them (no harsh edges meant no pain when she kissed him; that bit had been mostly for her benefit).

The mask was allowed to dry a bit in the air before Aminta removed it from the plaster mold of Erik's face, carefully pressing holes into the sides to attach a strap of leather when it was complete. She placed it into the oven at a very low temperature to allow it to bake for the rest of the night and harden.

"You are truly an artist, Mademoiselle." Erik complemented, and Aminta seemed to glow. Complements were a hard thing to get out of Erik at times.

"Thanks. My mom was a costume designer, she was really into this kind of thing. I guess I kind of grew up around it, and then that class taught me how it was done." She shrugged, but was smiling like a praised school girl. "It's not going to be as solid as the porcelain one was, or as pretty and shiny, but I'm almost positive it'll be more comfortable. And it will be a cinch to remake since I can keep the plaster model in the attic or something. Cheap too, clay costs next to nothing."

"I'm sure it will be perfect. Thank you."

Aminta moved to kiss him, happily. "I wish you didn't feel the need to wear it around me, but I can understand. If you're going to wear a mask I don't want it to hurt you and I definitely don't want you getting an infection and dying on me from it."

"I think we should get married."

This news was met by a stunned blink from Aminta. "I… You what? What happened to painting a target on our backs, not wanting to be married under God?"

"We're going to be parted someday." He told her frankly, though he didn't mention that after his dream he was afraid it would be sooner rather than later. "I don't know if it's true that marriage binds the soul, but there's no harm in having a safety net. Maybe getting married would even offer us some protection from whatever it is that tried to keep us apart. We'd be doing things the proper way, after all, it couldn't punish us for that."

"…Okay." She smiled, after considering his logic; she wanted to be damn sure he was doing this because he wanted to and not because he thought it would appease her for some reason or another. She was satisfied by his answer, though. "Let's get married."


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Note:** Busy busy the next few days. Last final tomorrow and final goodbyes to my roommate who's leaving me for the UK, then on Saturday I'll be in a car for 14 hours. You'll get a chapter tomorrow night and Saturday night, I promise, but we're not too far from the end now!

* * *

She had never expected to get married, in all honesty. The lifestyle had never appealed to her; Darning her husband's socks and rushing children off to ballet and piano lessons after a long day of cleaning and cooking didn't sound like her idea of a happy life. But with Erik things were different. Erik treated her like a queen, and she enjoyed treating him like a king in return. She felt like they both put equal effort into their home, and when they ran low on funds she knew it would be she who went to work, teaching French children English or music… and she was okay with that. She had never expected to meet anybody who would make what was otherwise a mundane lifestyle seem exciting and worth living.

Every day was an adventure with Erik. His mood was as unpredictable as hers was, and every day he was doing something fascinating and new. There were days she found herself listening at his feet for the entire day while he composed, not realizing the entire day had gone by until the sun was set and Erik got up to make dinner. They made love nearly every night, sometimes more than once, and in spite of how much they had argued that particular day every night reminded them how ridiculously in love they were, even if neither of them could explain it.

Aminta was perhaps the least demanding bride in Paris. She recycled the white gown she had bought for her Angel costume, and didn't bother to do much with her hair out of the ordinary besides pin a few of the more rogue curls into place. She wore no veil, and insisted Erik use the dummy ring she had bought for herself for the ceremony. A small gold band would serve for Erik's ring. She truly did not care about the ceremony, it was the end result that would make her the happiest woman alive.

It was a quiet affair. Nadir took a carriage into Boscherville to serve as a witness to the pair, even though he didn't share their God. He simply couldn't refuse; as caustic as both Aminta and Erik could be, somehow they were perfect for one another. The church was small and the town was quiet. The young priest had agreed to marry the pair eagerly, clearly unaware of the masked man's history in the sleepy village. In spite of their proximity to Erik's mother, she was not invited; not only did she already believe the two were married, she had not been a significant enough part of Erik's life to even consider sharing the day with.

If the priest was confused about the masked man at the altar, he certainly didn't show it. He smiled at the pair, genuinely glad to have them under his roof. After saying a prayer, the man asked if they had prepared vows or if they would like him to move right to the ones prepared by the church. Neither of them had thought to write vows; they were generally pretty open with one another as it was. It was no secret to either of them that one would be lost without the other.

The vows were simple, but sweet. The priest had each of them promise to love the other as long as they lived and more, to respect one another, and to always place their spouse before any other. They both agreed whole heartedly, though there was some joint amusion about the respecting one another bit, and finally the rings were brought out to be exchanged.

Erik had not brought the dummy ring like she had told him to, Aminta was surprised to see. Instead he brought a ring she had never seen before, a lovely white-gold band with a delicate pattern traced around it, and a small round cut diamond held delicately in place. It was far nicer than the thin gold band adorned with gem meant to look like a diamond Aminta had purchased for herself. Erik took her hand gently and placed the ring on her wedding finger; it fit perfectly. He smiled under his mask and rested his forehead on hers. "I borrowed your other ring to have it sized." He told her quietly. "Do you like it?" She knew it must have taken quite a bit of self restraint for Erik not to have purchased the most elaborate ring the jeweler had to offer, considering how expensive his tastes were, but its simple beauty was perfect for her.

"I love it." She smiled back. "Here. Read the inside." Aminta told him, showing him the gold band she had had made for him. Inside was inscribed in lovely italic script "For my Angel." This made Erik smile; whether the dream they had shared was true or not, he knew she would always hold him in her heart as her Angel. He adored her for holding her in so high a status. She slipped the ring on his ungloved wedding finger with a grin.

The priest couldn't help but smile in turn. "With God as my witness, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride." The man smiled to Erik, and Erik obliged eagerly. Aminta kissed him back firmly, happy tears in her eyes.

"I love you, Erik. So, so much."

"I love you too, Aminta." Aminta took his arm and walked back down the aisle to meet a smiling Nadir at the end.

"Congratulations, both of you. I have to say, Erik, this is quite unexpected of you." Nadir told them with a pleased look on his face.

"Stranger things have happened." Erik retorted, kissing Aminta's temple.

Nadir agreed whole heartedly. "I'm glad things are working out for you both, finally. What is next?"

"Nothing's going to change, Nadir." Aminta remarked, amused. "We've been practically married for a while, it's just official now." She pointed out.

Nadir left them one hundred francs as a wedding gift, which the pair accepted gratefully. Where money had been plentiful at the Opera, they were running low on funds now that winter had set in. In the spring when children returned to school Aminta would find a job, but until then money was a little tight. The Persian returned to Paris, and the newlyweds returned to their home in the countryside.

Erik picked up Aminta as if she weighed nothing, and carried her from their carriage to the front door. Aminta laughed lightly. "What are you doing? The ground's not even wet!" The snow had let up, and though it was cold outside the ground was dry.

"A bride who trips on her way into her new home brings bad luck." He told her, gravely.

Aminta couldn't help but grin. "But Erik, I've been living here for-"

Erik kissed her to silence her, and Aminta kissed him back obligingly. The kiss was drawn out substantially, and when Erik lay down his new bride in bed she immediately began fussing with her dress. She couldn't for the life of her reach the buttons in the back and was growing frustrated in her eagerness. She was met by a drawn out, languid kiss from Erik. As he kissed her he reached behind her to help with her buttons, freeing her from the bodice of the dress. Aminta pulled the dress off her hips and kissed her husband deeply, pulling at his own buttons in exchange. Erik removed her hands though, and kissed her again slowly but passionately.

"Erik…" There was a bit of a whine in her voice; her body was eager to consummate the marriage, she felt this pace would drive her mad. She caught a gleam in his eye that told her everything she needed to know; he knew how eager she was, but wanted to draw it out anyway.

They made love slowly, the pace a torturous delight for both. Aminta squirmed beneath her husband, her body begging him to quicken the pace while her mind adored the closeness in spite of the agony it caused. When finally they found sweet release, Aminta was exhausted mind and body. She urged her husband over so she could drape herself across him, the most comfortable blanket Erik had ever known he thought to himself. She smiled sleepily on his chest.

"We're going to be one of those stupidly cute old couples." She remarked drowsily. "The ones you see walking down the banks of the Seine holding hands at like… a hundred years old."

"I wouldn't call us cute, all things considering." Erik remarked, but smiled.

"Have you seen some of those couples' faces? You're far more handsome than a lot of old men." Aminta retorted and smiled back at him.

"Do you remember when Nadir asked us what we were going to do next?" Aminta nodded, and Erik continued. "I think we should have children."

Aminta raised a brow at him. "Okay, what's gotten into you? First you suggested we get married, now you're actually suggesting we have children?"

"I wasn't opposed to Adrian, and neither of us knew about the second baby." He pointed out. "But… yes. I think we should have children. If something happens to either of us, I don't want the other to wind up alone."

"You're still worried I'm going to leave, aren't you?" Aminta folded her arms under her chin and looked up at him. "You're not worried something's going to happen to you, you're worried something's going to happen to me."

"Well… yes. I am. I keep having different dreams about you, the only thing similar about them is I wind up alone again."

Aminta moved to kiss him. "You'll never be alone, Erik, even if something does happen to me. And really, I don't think we're one of those couples that will have the option of trying for children. First of all we have sex a lot more than the average couple in this day and age I'm guessing, and second getting pregnant has never been the problem. It's keeping the baby that hasn't been working out."

"I know… I know. But we can make moves to increase the likelihood of keeping a baby. As soon as we know you're pregnant if you go on bedrest…"

"I'd go insane in bed for six months, Erik, and I'd drive you nuts in the process. Besides, if it's that medicine you gave me nothing is going to help. I might just… not be fertile anymore." She frowned.

"There isn't any harm in trying is there?"

"That's easy enough for you to stay. I know you hurt when we lost the babies but I was absolutely devastated. I still can't get the image of the bath out of my head. Trying to have a baby might mean who knows how many more miscarriages and broken hearts."

"You said it yourself, we're together enough where your likelihood of getting pregnant is pretty great anyway. The trying would come in keeping the baby. A strict diet, restricted movement, anything to help a baby stick those first few months."

He was right, Aminta knew. She was going to have more miscarriages, there was little doubt about that. But there seemed to be no harm in making an extra effort to keep the baby. And he did seem to truly want a child… "Okay. Okay, the next time I know I'm pregnant we'll figure out a way to help me keep it. But three more miscarriages, and that's it. After that I want to be sterilized. Not just not being able to carry to term. I don't want to conceive anymore after that." She knew Erik would be capable of making this happen. Her heart was heavy from the deaths of two children; the deaths of five would tear her to shreds. She knew any more than that and she would likely never recover from the pain. He seemed to consider this compromise carefully before agreeing.

"Okay. Three more tries, that's all." He promised.


	36. Chapter 36

By the time fall came around again, Aminta was well and truly pregnant. She had lost another baby in February, though the miscarriage was not nearly as traumatic as the first, simply lumps of unusual tissue in her usual monthly bleed. Two uneventful months went by, and in April Aminta skipped her first period in months. When she started putting on weight and missed her period again in May, the pregnancy was confirmed.

Aminta obeyed Erik's every order. She rested for most of the day, no longer riding into Paris for supplies. She drank only water, not even tea was allowed to pass her lips. The food Erik made for her was rich in every vitamin and nutrient he could think to include, and dense enough to help her put on weight. She put on weight much more rapidly during this pregnancy than her first, she noticed, though to her relief she was keeping her lean face and limbs so far.

The summer months had been horrid, and Aminta was grateful she wasn't even further along by the time they hit. Erik put her on bedrest much of the time, and she obeyed more than willingly; just walking to the kitchen made her almost unbearably hot. Erik developed an ingenious little clockwork fan that created a weak but welcome movement of air near the bed which cooled her some. Growing a baby proved to be exhausting work in the heat, but Aminta never complained; she felt like if she did she was doomed to lose the baby, and she couldn't stand another stillbirth like Adrian.

With the end of came cooler air and a lighter spirit. She was nearly seven months pregnant, and looked every moment of it. Her skin was soft and pink, though it had stretched some around her belly before Erik had thought to give her olive oil to make her skin more supple to resist the stretching. Every day made the pair more and more confident that the child would be born happy and healthy. Erik had even started purchasing baby clothes and a proper crib.

Aminta sat on the floor, playing with the now massive but gentle natured cat she had given Erik for his birthday what seemed like decades ago while Erik composed at the piano, playing a few lines of a melody, altering it only just slightly before writing it down on parchment. Suddenly Aminta winced, a sound Erik caught even over his playing and he stopped immediately to look at her.

"What is it? Are you all right?" He demanded, turning on the bench to face her.

"… I think he's kicking." She grinned, holding a hand to her belly and beckoning him over. "I mean he's been turning and moving a little for a while, but this feels different. Weirder."

Erik moved to sit on his knees beside her, and Aminta grabbed his hand to press it against her belly. She waited a long moment before frowning a little. "I think he stopped."

As soon as she said it, there was a small flutter under Aminta's skin and the shape of the bulge altered ever so slightly before sliding into place. She grinned. "There! Did you feel it?"

Erik kissed his wife soundly. "I did. You said 'he', do you think it's another boy then?" He asked curiously. She had been correct about the first child, and he had heard that mothers were often intuitive about this sort of thing.

"I can't tell this time, actually. I've been alternating between calling him "he" and "she" in my mind, neither one seems more fitting. We need to come up with names…" She rubbed her belly absently and grinned when it fluttered again. "God that's so strange!"

"What sort of names were you thinking?" He asked, moving to sit behind her to hold her between her breasts and her belly.

"Well proper French names wouldn't hurt. Or we could go back to Shakespeare, but he does have some odd ones."

Erik began to rack his brain for names he had heard throughout France. "Let's see. For a boy there's Anton, but that's rather close to Antonio." He remarked before continuing. "Alexandre, Marc, Henri, Gustave, Michel…"

Aminta wrinkled her nose. "I don't really care for any of those, do you?"

"Not particularly, but it's a start. Maybe the girl names first?" Aminta nodded and Erik began to consider. "Colette, Eleanor, Annette, Naeva-"

"Oh that last one's interesting. What does it mean?"

"'Ingenue', actually." He smiled.

Aminta grinned in returned. "Naeva is perfect then. It's strange but not too odd sounding to be hindering. You know, I have an idea for a boy name. Why can't we call him Erik?"

The masked man shook his head. "I wouldn't wish my name on anyone."

Leaning back against her husband, she frowned. "Why not? I think you're wonderful. Maybe you haven't always been, but who has? We're going to be great parents, we can leave what happened in the past where it belongs. He won't have to know about anything you've done that you don't want him to know about." She pointed out.

"I know. I simply wouldn't want history to repeat itself." He remarked.

Aminta turned her head to kiss her husband. "It won't. I'm not going to be the world's greatest mom, but I can promise you I am going to be better to our child than your mother was to you, no matter what he looks like or how brilliant he is. I can also promise you he will never live with gypsies or be shown as a freak. If the world doesn't accept him, at the very least I will." She told him matter-of-factly, garnering a smile from Erik

"Okay. Erik it is, if it's a boy." Though he was now secretly hoping for a girl if only to spare the child his name.

A knock at the door nearly caused Aminta to jump out of her skin, and every muscle in Erik's body tensed. They both looked at each other nervously; Nadir was the only person who knew where they lived, or so they thought, and he always wrote before he visited. They hadn't received a letter from him in over a week…

Erik stood and moved to a drawer to gather the Punjab lasso into his pocket as a precaution. Aminta moved off the floor to sit in one of the chairs by the bookcase where she had a clear view of the door. Cautiously Erik opened it, and a small, thin hooded figure nearly hurled itself upon him. He held up his hands, too startled by the figure to even react.

"Oh Erik, it's true! You really are alive!" The figure exclaimed tearfully, and Aminta's heart sank. When the figure released her husband and removed its hood, a lovely young woman was standing before Erik, with blonde curls and youthful, if tired blue eyes. But there was something oddly familiar about her face… it was then Aminta realized that apart from her lighter eyes and hair and slighter frame, the young woman could well have passed for Aminta so similar was nearly every feature of their faces. Aminta folded her arms under her breasts and gave Erik a hard look.

"I… Aminta, this is Christine Daae. Christine, my wife Aminta."

Aminta gave the girl an insincere smile and a waggle of the fingers before moving to their bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Your wife! Well… she seems… pleasant?"


	37. Chapter 37

**Author's Note:** Home for winter break! Lots of good stuff to come, but Crossworlds will almost certainly be concluded by Christmas!

* * *

Aminta locked herself in their room, and it was well over an hour before Erik dared to knock and check on her. "Aminta? Is everything okay?"

"Go to Hell." Aminta told him from the other side of the solid wood door. Well… at least she was still alive. That was a start.

Christine frowned innocently. "This is my fault, isn't it? I didn't mean to cause trouble… But really, Raoul wouldn't be so fussy if I had an old friend to visit." She pointed out, and was silenced by a scowl from Erik.

"We are not friends, Christine." This news deepened the girl's fown. "How the hell did you find us?"

"There's no need for such language. I read about your death a while back, but I could have sworn I saw you at the market two weeks ago. I followed you here, but I was too scared to the come to the door so I left." She explained meekly.

"So why come to the door now? I was doing perfectly find without you."

The Vicomtess winced visibly at this news. "…I saw you at the market again two days ago. You were buying baby things. I had to see-"

"If I had replaced you? Of course I did, Christine. You made it quite clear you wanted nothing to do with me. I was never any more than a captor to you, in spite of everything. So why exactly is it that you're here?" Erik demanded, more harsh with the girl than he could ever remember being when she lived in his house below the lake, except perhaps the time she had unmasked him.

Christine wrung her hands some, looking every bit the child she was. "I really don't know. I suppose part of me is jealous of her. Raoul and I haven't been able to have a child yet. And when we do manage it won't ever be as brilliant as I'm sure your child will be. And part of me is-" she stopped herself short, realizing what she had been about to say was entirely inappropriate.

"Part of you is morbidly curious. You want to know what kind of woman could bear to have a child by me when you can't stand so much as to look at me. Is that it?" Erik demanded so harshly Christine jumped, but nodded meekly.

"I… yes. I'm happy for you, I am-" She added quickly, flinching visibly as if afraid he might strike her.

"You need to leave, Christine."

"But I only just arrived. We've hardly had a chance to talk. It's been so long, and Erik I do feel so terribly about what happened." She told him quietly, not quite ready to leave yet.

"Would you take it back? If you could go back to that day, would you still leave with Raoul." Erik demanded, already knowing the answer.

Christine frowned. "Well… yes, but-"

"There is no 'but', Christine. And regardless of your answer, things have changed for both of us. I have a wife I love dearly and who loves me, and a child we've been trying very hard for is due in mere weeks. You can't expect me to sit around for the rest of my life pining for you, cowering in a whole wanting to die because you didn't choose me, not when there is a life for me out here." He told her plainly, and opened the front door in a clear indication that she should leave. Christine gaped for a moment before setting her jaw tightly to keep from crying at his raw honestly. She bit the inside of her cheeks and slipped out of the house.

"I'm sorry if I caused any trouble. I didn't mean any by coming here. Congratulations, Erik. I hope she's everything you want and more." With that Christine mounted her horse and kicked it into a gallop, more to hide her tears at being addressed so harshly than out of any rush to return home.

Erik closed the door behind her and locked it for the first time in their history of owning the small home. With the house being so far off from the road, there had never been any need. Really there wasn't a need now… but Erik felt it was necessary regardless. There was no room for Christine in his house, not ever. Again he tried the bedroom door with no luck.

"You can come out, Aminta. She's gone."

"Fuck off, Erik. I don't want to deal with you right now."

Erik sighed, and moved to find the spare key to the bedroom he kept behind a sketch of her he kept in case they locked themselves out. Quietly he opened the door, closing it gently behind him. Aminta was laying in bed as if asleep; only her voice before and the slight shake in her breath gave her away.

"I don't appreciate being locked out of my own room…" He told her gently.

"I'm sleeping."

"No you're not." He countered firmly, and sat on the edge of the of the bed.

Aminta sat up and crossed her arms under her breasts. "No, you're right. I'm not. You want to talk about this, let's talk about this." Immediately Erik knew this was not going to go well. "I cannot believe how many chances I've given you, Erik, and this is what I'm met with? Why the hell would you let her into our house, after what she did to you?"

"You'll remember, I didn't let her in. She did that herself."

"You certainly didn't throw her out!"

"I most certainly did, Aminta. You were too busy pouting in here to be present for it." Erik pointed out.

"More than an HOUR after she arrived! I also hope you don't expect me to think it's just a coincidence that she and I look so much alike.

The masked man wasn't sure how to answer that. "I'm not sure what to say… yes, you do look a bit like her. For one thing you are far prettier-"

Aminta cut him off. "I look and feel like a beached whale, don't try and pull that card with me."

"It's the truth. And besides Aminta, she's only a child. You are the woman I love, that will never change." He promised, but Aminta shook her head.

"That's now the question, Erik. I know you love me. What I'm doubting now is why." She got out of bed and moved to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Erik sighed.

"Don't do this Aminta. Come out."

"Get over yourself asshole, I have to pee. The baby wants to tear your throat out as badly as I do, he's been kicking my bladder." She washed her hands and opened the door, leaning on the frame and holding her belly. "I can't believe you've reduced me into such a needy bitch, but I have to know. Why do you love me, Erik? Is it even _remotely_ because I look like her?"

"No, Aminta, it isn't. if anything when I met you it was a mark against you. I was nothing but good to that girl and she still chose Prince Charming over me. I hate her for what she did to me. Yes, I thought I loved her once, and she is plenty pretty. But Aminta, she isn't you. As much of a child as you can be sometimes, you are infinitely more of a woman than she will ever be. Do you think I would have married you if I weren't certain I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you and only you?"

"You wanted to marry Christine too, as I recall." She pointed out.

"I was crazed then. I was on more morphine and cocaine than one pharmacy could prescribe, and I was drunk on power besides… she was young and pretty, relatively talented, and naïve enough to trust me. Of course I wanted to marry her. The man I am now wants more than a mindless bride. You infuriate me sometimes; now for example. But you've told me before that you love me because of my faults, not in spite of them. I feel the same about you. And if you believe the dream we had, it's more likely that I chased after he because she looks like you and not because you look like her." He countered, and Aminta chewed on her lip for a long moment before sleeping.

"Okay. I believe you. But I still don't like you very much right now." She moved back to the bed, grabbing a pillow and thrusting it into his arms.

He raised a brow under the mask. "What is this for?"

"So you don't kink your neck on the sofa. Blankets are in the linen closet."


	38. Chapter 38

If Erik was having doubts about his feelings for Aminta, he certainly didn't show it. As wonderful and attentive as he had been before, every day the baby proved it was alive and well he became more excited and eager for it to be born. Whenever he went to the market he came back with sweets and chocolate, bread and pastries for her to gorge on, as well as things for the baby. Toys, clothes for both a boy and girl, blankets… everything the baby could possibly need.

The baby was kicking and turning more and more, and by the time the final month of Aminta's pregnancy rolled around there was no longer any doubt that they were going to have a baby. Even if she went into labor now, the baby would be born alive. It would be small and weak, and would require immense care… but it would be born alive, which was more than could be said for the babies Aminta had miscarried.

"I feel so _big_." Aminta whined one day, laying out on the sofa and examining her belly. "I feel like Baby's going to be born three feet tall." She mused, and Erik chuckled.

"You do look a little big compared to other pregnant women I've seen. You know, you could just be further along than we thought." He pointed out.

"Huh. It's possible I guess, but it can't be any more than three weeks more than we guessed. Plus, he started moving a little late." She pointed out. "So it's not like he's over-due."

"You've been eating really well, it could just be an exceptionally healthy baby."

Aminta smiled and traced patterns in her belly. "Wouldn't that be nice." Suddenly her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "…Erik, there's two babies."

He raised a brow under the mask. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there's two babies in there. We're having twins." She laughed, astonished, and Erik's eyes widened some.

"How do you know?" He immediately went to find his stethoscope.

"Well, think about it. I haven't been sure if it's a boy or a girl; it's probably one of each! Fraternal twins. Also, I'm bigger than a normal pregnant woman but it's not like I got fat. My legs are still pretty lean, so is my face… and I've been feeling kicks on either side of my belly. One baby can't possibly kick the front of my stomach and then my kidneys right after." She was grinning from ear to ear now; a stillbirth and two miscarriages, and now they were going to have two babies! She couldn't help but recall the saying about God opening a window after He closes a door.

Erik held the stethoscope to her belly and held up a finger to quiet her. She took a deep breath and held it, so the sound of her breathing wouldn't mingle with the sounds of her belly. Erik listened silently for a long moment before sitting back, looking awestruck.

"You're right. I can hear two heartbeats under yours. We're having twins."

Aminta squealed with delight and flung herself into Erik's arms. "It's one of each, I just know it. Erik and Naeva. We'll need more clothes! And another crib! Is the house going to be big enough? Oh who cares, we'll just add a room if we have to. We're having twins!" Aminta was chattering excitedly, grinning like a fool. Erik couldn't help but laugh and he held her tightly.

He couldn't remember a time when he was ever more nervously excited for anything in his life. He had been nervous enough for one baby, but for two! Would one be favored? Would they be able to afford two children? They were already running low on funds… They would make it work, he told himself. He had survived in much harsher situations, and at the very least he wouldn't be alone.

It was an immensely comforting thought, knowing he would never again be alone. The dreams that Aminta would leave him had stopped, leaving him more at ease. And even if something happened he would have two undoubtedly wonderful children to live for. How could they not be perfect? They were a product of such immense love and effort, and in spite of Erik's deformities Aminta was stunningly beautiful. Surely her beauty would dominate over his ugliness, he thought.

Nadir was delighted at the news that his friends were expecting an added miracle, and when Aminta was a week away from what the pair thought was her due date he moved into their living room to help with the delivery. He had assisted the midwife in the delivery of his son, which was more experience than either Erik or Aminta had with delivering a baby. He came laden with gifts for mother and babies, from toys and clothes for the children to a post-partum dress and jewelry for Aminta.

That last week seemed to drag on for years. Aminta didn't dislike being pregnant, but the aches and pains were becoming excessive. Her lower back was on fire, her legs were sore from carrying the immense weight on her body. The kicks were becoming painful, though they were still a welcome sign of the life under her skin. When the night of her due date came and went, Aminta began to worry.

"What if they're just… never born?" She wondered out loud the next day with a frown. Erik chuckled.

"They'll be here, Aminta. We're only guessing at the date, remember? We're probably just off a few days."

"Why can't they just be here already? I want our babies. Plus my back hurts." She added with a rub her to her lower back.

"Lay down on your side." He commanded, and Aminta obeyed, waddling over to their bed to lay down. Erik unbuttoned the back of her dress to massage her lower back. Aminta winced in pain, but knew she would feel better when Erik was through. Sure enough the more he worked at her back the less pain she felt, and her whole body relaxed immensely. She rolled over onto her back kissed her husband. "You're an Angel, thank you." She praised and closed her eyes happily.

Nadir called to the pair from the kitchen. "Lunch is ready, come and eat."

Erik stood from the bed to help Aminta to her feet. She allowed him to, but winced heavily as soon as she was upright, clutching her belly. "Owowowowow!"

Erik steadied her and helped sit her down again. "What is it, what's wrong?" He demanded, fussing over her.

"…I don't know. It stopped." She told him only moments later. "That was so strange…"

Nadir stood in the doorway with an excited smile. "It was likely a contraction. You'll likely have a few more before your water breaks, and you'll certainly have more when it does."

"So the babies are coming?" Aminta perked up considerably.

"The babies are coming."


	39. Chapter 39

Aminta's water broke as the sun rose the following morning. Her contractions were long, strong, and painfully close together by the time her water broke, keeping her, Erik, and Nadir awake for the duration of the night simply waiting for her labor to begin.

Even after her water broke, there was waiting. Hours upon hours went by with little progress being made. She was no more ready to deliver than she had been before her water broke, though her contractions had been horrible the entire time. Every hour that the babies were not born, the tension in the room increased. Nadir pulled Erik aside nearly eight hours after Aminta's water had broken, speaking quietly.

"Something is wrong, Erik. We need to get a midwife here, now." He told the masked man, who shook his head frantically.

"No, once one person knows we're here our privacy will vanish instantly. I considered moving us when Christine found us, a stranger is out of the question."

"The children will get an infection if they aren't born soon, and they could give it to Aminta…"

Erik shook his head. "No midwives. They will be fine, Nadir. It's simply her first birth, first births normally take longer."

"Yes, Erik, but not after the water is broken. It should have begun moving relatively quickly then." Nadir pointed out, but Erik was firm.

"No midwives. No strangers in my home, not with so much at stake." Nadir sighed in resignation and moved back to Aminta.

"What's wrong? Something's wrong." She was short of breath, drenched in sweat and contorted in pain from her contractions. "Why is it taking so long?" Aminta was absolutely exhausted, having gone more than a day without sleep and in severe pain for most of the time, she wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with her babies.

Erik wiped the sweat from her brow. "Nothing's wrong, my love. Why don't you try pushing and see if it helps?" He suggested, and Aminta nodded weakly. She'd kill for an epidural and a modern hospital right then, she thought to herself.

With every ounce of energy in her body she pushed, trying to help the twins be born. Finally, some progress was being made. Nadir was encouraging, readying blankets with which to clean and wrap the infants. Aminta collapsed back into the pillows Erik had propped up for her, breathing heavily. "I need to sleep…"

"Not yet Aminta, you're doing so well. Just a little bit more, then you can sleep." Nadir promised, and Aminta nodded weakly. Erik held water to her lips and Aminta drank gratefully, sitting up again to push more. Nadir looked to Erik with an encouraging nod, and the masked man kissed his wife.

"You're doing great, they're on their way. Keep trying, they're almost here." He told her, wiping her forehead again. It broke his heart to see her this exhausted, and if he could take her place he knew he would in a heartbeat. Unfortunately there was nothing he could do to ease her pain or to liberate her from her exhaustion. All he could do was hold her hand and encourage her through this ordeal.

"I see a head, we're almost there." Nadir told them happily. A head was a good sign, Erik knew; he had been born breech, and had nearly killed his mother in the process.

Aminta worked for more than an hour, trying to encourage her body to allow the baby to be born. Finally there was a rush of pain, and Aminta collapsed back onto the pillows.

There was a whirl of activity in the room as Erik moved to Nadir to cut the newborn's umbilical cord and gather the child in a blanket. "It's a girl." Nadir remarked out loud, moving to get a bucket of water to help clean the child.

Aminta was panting from the bed, and her voice reflected how delirious she felt. "She's not crying… why isn't she crying? Erik why isn't she crying?" She demanded weakly before doubling over in the pain of another contraction.

Erik was alarmed by this fact as well. The newborn squirmed in his arms, but was turning blue, having not yet taken her first breath of sweet air. When Nadir returned with the bowl of water, Erik was desperately patting the newborn's back and Aminta was already pushing to deliver the second child. In a rush of sound the baby in Erik's arms coughed and began to wail, a sweet, tender sound which countered Aminta's pained yelp as the second child arrived into the world feet-first.

Aminta collapsed back into the pillows, but all attention was on the newborns. Nadir moved to clean the girl who cried sweetly from her blankets, while Erik desperately gathered up his newborn son. The boy was drenched in blood, and like his sister rapidly turning blue for lack of breath. His cord was cut and Erik bounced and patted the boy's back firmly trying to do anything in his power to get the boy to take that first vital breath.

Nothing was working. He laid the boy down on the bed and swatted his bare bottom with no luck. Turning the infant over, he was alarmed when he noticed the child had stopped squirming.

"Breathe, God damn you…" Erik commanded of his son, to no avail. He rubbed the boy's chest, breathed into his mouth and nose, but nothing worked. The child simply could not be persuaded to breathe. Erik's attention remained on his newborn son until Nadir's nervous voice cut through his panic.

"…Aminta. Aminta, wake up child."

Erik's stomach flipped and he moved immediately from the infant to his wife's side, pulling Nadir to the infant in his place.

"Aminta." He called her name, but her figure was still in the pillows. "Aminta, answer me." No response came, even when Erik shook her. He leapt back against the wall when his shaking caused her head to loll into her shoulder, limp. He slumped down against the wall, whole body shaking uncontrollably.

Nadir acted quickly, abandoning the infant and moving past Erik in an attempt to resuscitate Aminta. None of his agitation would rouse the young woman though, and with tears in his eyes he removed all but one of the pillows from beneath her so she could lay in peace. Standing in reverence beside the bed, he sang a quiet prayer begging Allah to save her soul.

The aging Persian man hadn't noticed Erik move from behind him. When he finally pulled his attention away from Aminta, he discovered the man dressing his daughter in her first silky gown, gently. The newborn stared up at her father, with blue-green eyes wider and more alert than Nadir had ever seen in an in a child so young. Her skin was flawless, pale and pink with a dark brown tuft of hair with a bit of a curl to it as it dried. She had stopped crying, and was simply studying the masked man who picked her up and cradled her gently.

The first piece of clothing Erik had ever received was a crudely fashioned mask his mother had made for him hours after he was born. Naeva's first piece of clothing was the most delicate silk money could buy, and Erik vowed then and there his daughter would never have anything less.

"Erik…" Nadir ventured, not sure how to approach the man. He knew Erik did not handle grief well, and was likely going to break at any moment. Unsure of what to say to comfort the man, he played into his escapism. "What are you going to call her?" He finally asked, wiping at his eyes with a handkerchief.

"Naeva Mendelssohn. Aminta liked Naeva… my little ingénue." The name was so perfect. Ingénue… a young woman inexperienced with life, completely innocent. If that did not describe his daughter, nothing did. He would protect her as best he could to be sure she stayed naïve to life's cruelties for as long as possible.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So, super hard chapter for me to write, and nothing will ever do it justice... but here it is. This isn't the end though! Stay tuned, there's more.


	40. Chapter 40

Aminta had given every last bit of her strength to birthing her children, and it had cost her her life. Nadir suspected her death was caused by the breech birth of her son; ultimately the loss of blood and sheer exhaustion had overtaken her. In a hospital she might have been saved, but in a hospital the odds of contracting childbed fever were infinitely higher than a healthy young woman dying of exhaustion. To Nadir, her death had been a tragic fluke, a statistical anomaly brought on by chance.

Erik knew better. The fact his son was born breech and had contributed to her death, the very child Aminta wanted to carry his name… that was no coincidence. No, this was Fate's way of telling Erik his dreams had been reality. Aminta had been taken from him, as she had in his dreams. Only she had not returned to New York.

The funeral was quiet, only the grave diggers, Nadir, and father and daughter in attendance. Aminta and son were buried together in a single coffin, next to the small stone lamb in the Boscherville cemetery. Nadir said a quiet prayer, and clasped his friend's shoulder in an attempt to comfort.

"Do you want me to take Naeva?" He asked gently.

Erik shook his head, reluctant to ever let go of his precious cargo. Nadir stepped away from the grave to give Erik privacy. The grave was marked with an unnamed wooden cross, which simply wouldn't do Erik thought to himself. He would make her a proper marker, he thought, one that would do her memory justice.

The masked man looked down at the bundle in his arms, sleeping quietly through the cold. Only two days old, the newborn was already angelic. She slept often, ate well, and only fussed when she was hungry. More than anything, Naeva liked to observe. He had once heard that infants were nearly blind, but he didn't think this was true of his daughter. She always looked him square in the eyes, as if studying him. Her blue-green eyes shone with immense, quiet intelligence. What was going on in that lovely head of hers, he wondered? Did she know of her loss? Did she know how fearful Erik was for her future and for her to be raised alone by a man with no social skills at all?

Slipping the newborn into his coat to keep her warm amidst the January snow, Erik kneeled at the foot of his wife's grave, slacks dirtying in the freshly churned, wet soil. Alone and heartbroken, Erik began to sing. He had composed a requiem mass the night before, unable to sleep in the bed his wife had died in even with his daughter to comfort him. He had wept for hours, filled with so many regrets. He hadn't been able to tell her he loved her. She had died without seeing the beautiful child they had created. Was there a heaven? Would Aminta be sent there without him? So many heartbreaking thoughts raced through his mind, until Naeva had begun to fuss, ready for her latest meal. After the baby was fed, he sat at the piano for hours, music flowing out of him like a waterfall. The libretto was ages old, but the melody was a heartbreaking lament.

Aminta had always wanted him to sing for her, but in all their time together he never had. He sang for her now, kneeling in the dirt with a sleeping newborn in his arms and tears stinging his eyes. He sang her the Introit, and the Kyrie elison, as well as the Sanctus and Agnus dei . Finally, he sang her a lacrimosa, and the In paradisum.

"_In paradisum deducant te Angeli:_

_in tuo adventu suscipiant te Martyres,_

_et perducant te in civitatem sanctam Ierusalem._

_Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat,_

_et cum Lazaro quondam paupere æternam habeas requiem"_

When the final, wavering note was finished, Erik allowed himself to cry. He reached a hand into the soil, as if it was any replacement for the softness of her hair or her smooth skin. "I'm so sorry, Aminta. I never meant for this to happen. Things were supposed to get better for us. You would have been such a wonderful mother… why did you leave? You promised me you would never leave." He sobbed and wiped ferociously at his eyes.

Looking down, he saw the pump-cheeked face of his daughter staring up at him, head tilted slightly. Erik kissed her forehead, breathing in her sweet, milky smell. She was his only reason for living now; no matter how much Erik wished he could join his wife wherever she may be, he knew he had to keep breathing. No matter how much each breath pained him, no matter how heavy every bite of food felt or how much each drink of water burned his throat, this tiny, beautiful creature, this small piece of his wife needed him to survive.

When the sun began to set, Erik began the ride back to the small house in the country. It didn't feel like home anymore, not without Aminta. It was too quiet, too still. Erik unpacked he tiny bundle from his coat, placing the baby into her crib adjacent to the empty one that should have belonged to her twin. No matter how Erik tried, he could not mourn the loss of his son. As passionate as he had been to get the boy to breathe… the child had killed his wife. He had taken from Erik everything that made him happy, everything that had kept him sane for several years. The child was not the product of his love for Aminta, not like Naeva was. No, this child was the product of something much more sinister. He would not mourn the death of a child sent solely to punish Erik for crimes long since passed.

The next day, Erik ordered a large slab of marble from a mason in Rouen. Within a week the stone arrived right at his door and with considerable effort Erik leveraged the four foot rectangle of marble into the living room. Immediately, he began to work.

He had created Angels of gold, granite, and marble for the Palais Garnier when he had helped to build the magnificent Opera, but this was his grandest creation yet. It was a simple design, an Angel in the form of his love standing sweetly with a violin under her chin. The likeness of the statue to his dead bride was so uncanny, Erik stood for a long while admiring his handiwork, stroking the cheek of his dead love. It had taken three days, with frequent stops to care for his daughter, but the statuette was perfect. In addition to her likeness, the base bore her name, the year of her death, and the age of her death; 24 years.

Twenty four years old… Aminta had been so young! Erik had never considered her youth before. Twenty four years was nothing. When Erik was twenty four years old, he was in the prime of his youth, on top of the world in a palace in Persia. When Aminta was twenty four years old, she had been created life and had hers robbed from her. It didn't seem right.

Gathering up Naeva, Erik once again traveled to the Boscherville cemetery, towing the statuette in a cart behind the horse. With the help of the grave attendants, Erik put the statuette into place at the head of the fresh grave.

For the first time since he was a boy, Erik prayed. He prayed for the safekeeping of Aminta's soul, and for mercy enough to be allowed to see her again someday. He knew he would never be allowed into heaven after all he had done, but if he could just see her once more before his damnation, he would take any punishment he deserved with grace.

Standing again, Erik held his daughter up to the statuette to show Naeva the face of her beautiful mother. The girl stared with her large, beautiful eyes, studying the face of the woman she would never know.


	41. Chapter 41

The years went by, and Naeva grew. She remained quiet and observant, much like her father was. At times though, she displayed immense boughts of happiness like those her mother was prone to, giggling outrageously as she played with the long-haired cat which had taken the girl as his own. She was tall for her age and exceptionally bright. She was eager to learn everything Erik could teach her from a young age. When she had observed him playing the piano she asked to be taught, same with the violin. When she found him reading, she was curious about how such strange symbols could make words, so Erik taught her to read. He taught her mathematics and science, things a girl (especially one of her age) would never have an opportunity to learn in school.

When Naeva had been a year old, Erik received news that his mother had passed away. Erik felt no remorse, and did not mourn… but he also felt no bitterness towards the woman. In fact, he went to her grave shortly after her burial and thanked her. Money had been tight, Erik and Naeva living off of a combination of Nadir's generosity and Erik's ingenuity. He had begun to make and sell curious little music boxes, with melodies that were never exactly the same twice. They fetched a good sum when the buyer was right, but there wasn't a huge market for such trinkets in a failing economy. When money was tight, Nadir always seemed to show up with a bag of groceries and presents for his darling adopted niece. The money Erik's mother left when she passed was a surprisingly large sum, and the money fetched by selling the house was even greater. It would be sustain their little household well past Erik's death and into Naeva's adulthood.

Erik attempted to culture the girl as much as he could. For her fifth birthday, she was sent to the Opera house with Nadir to see a ballet. Operas were now a rarity, as their opulence seemed excessive to patrons who were tightening their belts. Ballerinas were less expensive to employ than divas, and so the ballet became the primary source of income. The little girl had come home awestruck. "They're all so beautiful Papa!" she gushed. "The way they moved… oh Papa it was extraordinary." Her massive vocabulary and proper pronunciation of the French language had always pleasantly astounded Nadir, who still struggled with the language himself.

The Persian squeezed the girl's shoulder fondly. "I think we have a future ballerina on our hands, Erik."

"If ballerinas weren't all mindless little alcoholic tarts, it might be something to consider." Erik remarked, and Naeva pouted.

"I wouldn't have to be like them, Papa. Who says I can't be beautiful and smart?" She asked, arms folded some. She looked just like her mother then, Erik thought as he scooped the girl into his arms to kiss her cheek.

"I certainly never said such a thing. Your mother was the most beautiful and clever woman I've met in my entire life. I have no doubt someday you'll meet or even surpass her in both of those respects. But if you want to take lessons to see if maybe you would like the ballet, I suppose that can be arranged."

Naeva grinned widely, her green eyes sparkling as she hugged her father around his neck. She loved him dearly, Nadir knew, in spite of how almost professional their relationship sometimes seemed. There was immense mutual respect for one another unlike Nadir had ever seen. Both seemed to know when the other needed privacy, and when the wall between them could be appropriately broken. Their love for one another was often unspoken but mutually known. Each one needed the other, in their own way.

So Naeva began dance lessons at the ballet once a week, since the Opera was so far from their home. Naeva loved the exercises immensely, her long, lithe body taking well to the stretches and most basic of poses. She was easily a good head taller than most of the other girls in her class, which her instructor had thought would be a disadvantage to the girl; ballerinas were typically small in every aspect, rarely ever taller than five feet five inches since they had to be several inches shorter than the men in the company. But for the time being, Naeva had long enough legs and was limber enough to be allowed to continue.

The girl may have loved the art of ballet, but she certainly did not like the other girls at her lessons. "They're so dull, Papa! They haven't even read Socrates or Plato, let alone Homer. I'll bet their Papas haven't even taught them to read at all!"

Erik couldn't help but laugh gently. "My darling, I'm sure that is the case. I'm willing to bet many of their fathers don't know how to read themselves. Not many girls desire to read as young as you did, especially not the works of Greek masters. You are well above and beyond the education of any girl your age, I'd say.

"I'm glad I don't go to school with the rest of them, then." She announced as she moved to practice her stretches and poses she had learned that week.

"Why is that?" Erik inquired curiously.

"They'd have even more of a chance to tease me." She said simply.

Erik was taken aback by this news. "Who is teasing you, Naeva?"

"Just the girls at the ballet. Really Papa, you don't have to worry. They only tease me about things I couldn't change even if I wanted to, it doesn't really bother me." Erik could tell she was telling the truth, and that this teasing was merely annoying and not hurting her at all. He was grateful for this and for her maturity, but still curious.

"What exactly do they tease you over?"

"You and Mama mostly. Their mothers get to stay and watch them dance on the benches. Mine gets to watch me from Heaven." She smiled to him, moving seamlessly between the first through fourth positions.

Within a year, Naeva had given up on ballet. Her father was right, the girls were too dull and half-witted to stand. While she loved the art, she carried a great dislike for her peers. January was coming around again, and with it Naeva's birthday. The day was one of mixed emotions for both father and daughter. They had both gained and lost so much on that day. Traditionally, Naeva spent the day with Nadir in Paris, seeing the sights and playing games. Erik spent the day at the cemetery in Boscherville, filling in his wife on the events of the past year, all the developments their remarkable child had made in her absence.

The day before her birthday, Naeva was sitting by the fire with a worn copy of The Decameron. She did this often, reading books that should have been well beyond her comprehension. Only on occasion did she have to ask her father what a word or phrasing meant, even in books that were written in their author's native language like The Decameron. Erik figured she must have mastered nearly every language found in his library by now, from French, to Greek, to Italian. Quietly she closed the book, and moved to sit by Erik at the piano bench. He was playing a quiet melody in minor key, one she had heard him play on the violin before but never on the piano.

"Papa, what are you playing?"

"Mozart, my darling. The Kyrie of his Mass in C Minor." He explained. "It's meant for a group of violins, and a choir. I enjoy playing it on the piano so I can include the choral pieces."

"It's beautiful. But why don't you just sing the choir parts while you play the violin?"

Erik smiled. "Holding a violin isn't the proper posture in which to sing. Besides, the solo is meant for a woman's voice. Mozart wrote it for his wife."

"How romantic!" She remarked with praise for the composer. "You're playing it for Mama aren't you?"

"I… Yes, I am. Mozart was one of her favorite composers. She also found him terribly romantic."

"Papa, may I go with you to the cemetery tomorrow?" She asked, and Erik immediately stopped playing.

"Why would you want to come to the cemetery? Tomorrow is your day in Paris with your uncle."

"I want to see Mama's grave." She said so simply and sweetly Erik could not decline.

The next day, the pair traveled to Boscherville by carriage. Erik left a note for his aging friend on the door, stating that Naeva wouldn't be joining him that day but that perhaps tomorrow Erik would take her to visit.

They left so early in the morning Naeva fell asleep for the majority of the ride into the sleepy little village. When she awoke the carriage was pulling to a stop in front of a snowy little cemetery behind a quaint little church. Nervously she looked up at her father, who stroked her brown waves comfortingly. He carried her out of the carriage and through the snow, to a statue of an Angel that stood nearly eye to eye with the six year old when Erik placed her back on her feet.

Naeva reached out and stroked the cheek of the woman she had never met, but who seemed so familiar to her. A smile played on her lips, and with tears in her eyes the girl finally spoke. "Hello, Mama."

The pair spent all day at the cemetery. Erik told his daughter stories about her mother, even about her strange appearance at the Opera in Paris. He was honest with the girl about their struggles and their initial dislike, even hatred for one another. He explained how immensely they had been in love the best that words could describe. He even explained about the small statue of a lamb next to the Angel, and about the miscarriages in between the stillbirth of Adrian and the birth of Naeva and her twin.

"I'm glad you tried so hard to have me." She remarked, with a sad look at the grave of the boy who should have been her older brother.

"So am I, Naeva. So am I." He promised her.

"Who made this statute, Papa? It looks just like the drawings you have of her." Erik looked down at her, surprised. He hadn't known she had seen those sketches, and was slightly embarrassed; not all of them were appropriate for the eyes of a six year old.

"I did. I wanted to make it in her image so I would never forget her face. Not that I would have." He added. He to his knowledge he had never been able to forget anything in all his years, least of all the face of his love.

"You carved this? Papa it's perfect…"

"Thank you, my darling. If you'd like I can teach you."

Naeva's eyes widened. "Could you really?"

Erik smiled to her. "Of course. I adore all the arts. Painting, drawing, sculpting…"

"I want to learn them all, Papa! Everything you can teach me." She announced with excitement. Her passion for learning filled Erik with immense pride.

"I will teach you everything you want to know, and then some." He promised his daughter, lifting her up to carry her back through the snow. So began the first of their yearly pilgrimages to the Boscherville cemetery.


	42. Chapter 42

Nadir passed away in the spring of 1892. As per Aminta's wishes, he had disclosed the events of so many year ago to Monsieur Leroux when he arrived at Nadir's flat on the Rue de Rivoli, giving the young man written exchanged between himself and Erik, as well as the name and address of the commissioner in charge of investigating "the incident" at the Opera at the time it occurred ten years prior. He told the man the same story Aminta had told, and when he was asked about Aminta he was honest; she and the ghost had been very much in love, in spite of everything conspiring to keep them apart, but that she had passed away relatively recently. Leroux was disappointed by this, wanting to speak to the mysterious woman who had been so helpful to his research in the past.

The Persian died five months after the final visit of Monsieur Leroux, in the company of Erik and Naeva. There was nothing father or daughter could do but make the man comfortable as he passed; Even Erik, with his extensive knowledge of healing herbs, was no match for father time. Nadir must have been eight years old at least by the time his arthritic body finally failed him. The pair could do nothing but comfort the man, Erik reliving stories of Nadir's glory days and of the countless troubles the Daroga had saved Erik from.

Naeva adored these stories. She didn't think any less of her father for the crimes he had committed; she knew he was a good man now, what he did in the past didn't matter to her. He did what he had to do to survive, and she respected him for that. Erik never spoke of his past to her, but Naeva had been able to piece parts of it together simply by listening to Nadir and her father talk over the years. She knew his life had been extraordinarily difficult because of whatever it was he was hiding under the mask.

When she was young, she had never thought anything about the mask. It wasn't until she had started her ballet lessons at five years old, when she began to socialize with people her age that she realized her father's mask was out of the ordinary. She didn't care though. Her father was a brilliant man; if he wore a mask, there was certainly a reason for it.

Nadir was deeply missed by the small family. The death of his oldest friend caused Erik to pay attention to his own mortality. He was sixty years old, or thereabouts, and would certainly not live so long as Nadir had. He had been much harsher on his body throughout the years than his friend, having struggled with drugs and much manual labor throughout his life.

Life went on without Nadir much as it had before. Erik taught his daughter to sculpt, paint, carve, and sketch, and she quickly began to show talent in all four of these arts. She had a remarkable imagination, sculpting things she saw and things she dreamed of. She sketched angels and people, ballerinas and faeries. Her favorite things to create were scenes from Operas. While she had never seen an Opera, her father had told her so many of the stories and played her the scores. She created marvelous scenes for productions she had never seen, her imagination unhindered by what she had previously seen.

In spite of Naeva's natural gift for art, she quickly grew bored. The one art that had never ceased to hold her interest was music. This wasn't surprising to Erik; if he truly had been the Angel of Music, it only made sense that his daughter would be most interested in music. It had been a part of her life since shortly after she was born; Erik had composed his wife's requiem when Naeva was less than a day old, and had taught her to play the piano and violin more proficiently than any musician at the Palais Garnier before she was five. Now at eight years old, she was composing her own works that were as lovely as any created by modern composers.

More and more, Naeva spent her free time at the piano or with her father's Stradivarius violin, playing some melody or another of her own creation while her father cooked, cleaned, or tinkered. Several of her melodies had found their way into music boxes which had sold for good sum in the market. His daughter was remarkably talented and passionate to a fault, he knew. She reminded him so much of himself at her age… with a similar disadvantage.

Women were thought of as performers, as works of art and not artists. She could be as talented as any man, but Erik knew she would never achieve the fame and recognition of her male peers. He didn't have the heart to tell her this, when at fifteen years old she asked if she could study music at the Conservatoire de Paris.

"Why not, Papa?" Naeva asked when his answer had been no. "You said yourself I have talent. The audition is next week, I've been preparing a piece…"

"You know I dislike saying no to you, Naeva, but my answer is still no. I want you to trust my judgment on this matter." Erik explained, setting the table for their supper.

"If you'd at least give me a reason maybe I could. I know I have talent, and I want to learn and make a name for myself. If you're worried I'll be too far from home, you could come live in Paris with me. I'll rent a flat under my name, no one will need to know you're there with me." Naeva tried, but Erik only shook his head.

"It is a thoughtful gesture, but that isn't why I must say no."

"Then _why_ Papa?" She persisted, sitting indignantly in her chair across from him.

Erik sighed, and sat after filling her plate to pour himself a glass of wine. "Because, my darling, even if the Conservatoire would take you, Paris would not. Nobody will commission work from a woman, no matter how talented she may be. In Paris, women are not meant to be artists, they are meant to be works of art. They dress in elaborate gowns and arrange themselves like flowers. They don't create art, they are art. I am sorry Naeva, but in this world you won't be able to do much more than create art for the sake of creating it."

Naeva frowned. "But Papa, I don't want to sell my work. I just want to learn, to create. If I sell something, wonderful. If not, I promise not to be disappointed. I want to give concerts, and play to make people think, to make people smile or cry, not to make money."

Her father considered this, taking a long drink deep in thought. "Okay. You may try to enter the Conservatoire. If they allow you in, you may attend." He conceded. "But I will not join you in Paris."

If his daughter was old enough to attend the Conservatoire, she no longer needed him. She could sustain herself, he knew. This was both welcome and dreaded news; on the one hand, it was painful to see his daughter so grown, so passionate. On the other hand, he would be free soon to join his love, wherever she may be.


	43. Chapter 43

Naeva had never been so nervous in her entire life. Here she was, as the Conservatoire de Paris in line to audition with thirty young men for ten positions into the music school. These young men were impeccably dressed, all looking far more confident than she felt.

A young man sat down next to her, making thirty two people auditioning in total she noted with increasing nerves. Every new person who arrived decreased her odds of making it in by one more… "Excuse me, Mademoiselle. The dance school auditions are in the next theatre over." Her thoughts were interrupted by the male voice from next to her.

She shot the boy a hard look that made his breath catch in his throat. "I know." She said simply, turning to stare straight ahead with her chin held high. Her father had warned her of boys like this, and she refused to be intimidated by him.

Quietly she wondered where he was. He had promised to be present at her audition, but so far he was nowhere to be seen. This didn't help to ease her nerves. What if something had happened to him? Or what if he just never came? She wasn't sure which would be worse.

The boy next to her spoke again. "I'm sorry. I didn't know they were auditioning girls into the music school." The boy offered his hand to shake. "Can we start fresh? Marcel Charron. Who have you been studying under?"

Naeva studied the boy carefully before taking his hand to shake, politely. "Naeva Mendelssohn. My father taught me to play. He's the best musician there has ever been." She added, a bit self consciously. She knew most of the people here had paid hundreds if not thousands of francs receiving their educations.

"He must be good if they're letting you audition. My uncle taught me. We can't afford a real teacher." The boy explained, feeling she would understand since she was taught by family also. "Good luck. I think Paris could use more women musicians." He smiled charmingly.

Having developed her father's natural wariness of people, she was surprised by the young man's candor. "Thanks?" She offered, warily, and the boy only nodded his welcome.

One by one the boys entered the theatre. Some came out beaming with confidence, heads held high and chests puffed proudly. Others returned from the theatre with tears of frustration running down their cheeks. When Naeva's name was called and her father had still not arrived, she frowned deeply but moved into the theatre with a look back at Marcel. He smiled at her reassuringly, mouthing his wishes for luck once more. Quickly she looked ahead of her and strode into the theatre with spades more confidence than she felt.

Standing in front of the panel of judges in her best dress, Naeva waited to be addressed. "Please state your name and your audition piece." A gray haired older gentleman announced, readying his quill to take notes.

"My name is Naeva Mendelssohn, and I will be playing a piece I composed which has no name." She told them, and they exchanged perplexed glances. She was given a gesture to continue, and Naeva sat at the piano bench, her posture impeccable and her wrists loose. Suddenly a small voice, barely more than a whisper made itself heard near her right ear.

"You'll be wonderful, my darling. I'm so proud of you." Naeva's eyes widened, startled. She looked around to locate the voice of her father no avail. Confused but knowing she had to play soon or risk failing her audition, she began to play. The melody was delicate in B minor, floating along like a bird in the wind. Suddenly the wind became a storm, the melody becoming harsh, torrential and relentless. And then, as suddenly as the storm had set in it vanished, and the skies were once again calm and clear if a little melancholy. It was a short piece in comparison to many, no more than ten minutes long. Naeva stood and curtsied politely to the table of judges before moving to leave the stage.

"Wait a moment, Mademoiselle Mendelssohn." The gray haired man addressed her, stopping her in her tracks. She turned back to the panel with a curtsy.

"Messieurs?"

"Who is your teacher?" The man asked, his voice filled with intense curiosity.

"My father, Monsieur."

"What else has he taught you?" Asked the man.

"You mean instruments? Only the violin, Monsieur." She answered, meekly.

"Did you bring your violin today?"

She shook her head. "No, Monsieur. I didn't think there would be a need…" The man waved to someone unseen, and a violin was brought to her up on the stage. She accepted it delicately, a little confused.

"Please, play something for us Mademoiselle."

With some hesitation, nervous about what their motivation could be, she put the violin under chin and began to play the Kyrie to Mozart's Mass in C Minor. It was one of her favorite pieces her father had ever played, and she had learned it by ear after finding out it was one of her mother's favorite works. She didn't know the words or the choir portions, but she played the violin arrangement with immense passion. The song meant so much to her and to her father it was hard to play it perfectly, without any alterations. She played what notes felt right in that moment, notes which reflected the heartbreak of the loss of her mother. When she was through, pulled the violin out from under her chin and curtsied again.

"Thank you, Madamoiselle. Do we have your contact information?" Aminta nodded meekly, and the gray haired man finished writing his notes. "Good. If I were you, I would check my mail quite frequently. If you haven't received a letter from us in a week, please return."

"I… Thank you, Messieurs." She stammered, moving quickly off the stage with her face burning. She was in. She had made it. Naeva was the first woman ever admitted to Conservatoire de Paris. Words could not express her feelings in that moment. She was so sure she would never be admitted, she hadn't prepared herself for this.

"How did it go?" Marcel asked, standing now to walk into the theatre after her.

"…I made it." Marcel grinned broadly, and as far as Naeva could tell the smile was genuine.

"Congratulations! Wish me luck, I'll probably need it coming after a sure-in." He smiled, and Naeva wished him luck and moved out onto the streets of Paris. There, she caught sight of her father dressed in black, hooded but still recognizable.

A smile played under the mask. "You were incredible, Naeva." He opened his arms to embrace her, and she ran into them.

"Oh Papa I was so nervous! Where were you? I thought I heard you…"

"You did. I prefer to remain unseen in the city, when I can help it." He kissed the top of her head and let her go. "Let's go home."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Kuroneko388, you are so, so sweet to say that. It'd take way more effort than I have time for to get Crossworlds published (it'd need a LOT of revisions and editing). There are is one chapter and an epilogue left, and then Crossworlds will be done! I'll be sad to see it end, BUT there's a possibility I might write up another RP involving Erik's time in Persia. It's another AU with another OC female character who is very unlike Aminta, but it's another of my favorites. If any of you reading this would be interested, please let me know and I'll definitely start brainstorming.


	44. Chapter 44

Erik attended each and every one of his daughter's performances until his death in 1900. He was never once seen, but he always made himself known to her and only to her. After her last performance of the year, he was waiting outside her dormitory for her, not caring who saw him. This concerned Naeva greatly, for she knew well her father's desire for secrecy and privacy. She moved quickly away from Marcel who had so graciously walked her to her room and to the tall masked figure to embrace him.

"Papa, what are you doing here? Is something wrong." She moved back to inspect the man, who shook his head.

"Quite the opposite, my darling. It's time for me to go and see your mother." Naeva's eyes immediately welled with tears and her hand covered her mouth.

"You're Naeva's father?" Asked a voice from behind the girl gently, and Marcel stepped forward to offer his free hand to the man to shake. "Marcel Charron, it's such an honor to meet you Monsieur."

Erik couldn't help but raise a brow at the boy's boldness, but shook his hand obligingly. "I regret my daughter hasn't mentioned you." He gave a curious look to Naeva, who pointedly stepped on Marcel's foot causing him to wince.

"That's because there isn't anything to mention, Papa. Thank you for walking me up, Marcel. I'll see you tomorrow." Her face was bright red but her eyes flashed in a way that suggested to Marcel that he had better take the hint and leave.

"Right. Any time, Naeva. Again, it's an honor to meet you Monsieur, truly." If he was bothered by mask, he said nothing of it and quickly moved down the stairs and back to his own dormitory.

"Who on earth was that?" Asked Erik with clear amusion in his voice.

"Nobody Papa. Just a boy in my music theory course, we met at the audition." Erik raised a brow at her, and she sighed some. "And we may have gone to coffee once or twice. I meant to tell you, Papa, but it never came up-"

"He seems like a good boy." Erik told her, cutting her off. "And if he's in a course with you he must be talented."

"I don't care about him right now, Papa! What do you mean you're going to see Mama?" She demanded, ushering him inside her living quarters at the Conservatoire.

Erik moved to sit in the chair at her writing desk to allow her to sit on the bed. "I mean just that. It's my time to go, Naeva. I wanted to come and tell you how incredibly proud I am of you. You've made so much more of yourself in a much more positive way than I ever managed. I hope you never let anything stop you from attaining your dreams or from finding happiness." He told her quietly.

Naeva wiped at her eyes. "It can't be your time yet Papa, I need you." She sat on the bed and grabbed hold of one of her pillows to ease her anxiety. Erik frowned and move to wrap an arm around her shoulder, kissing the top of her head as he so often had.

"You haven't needed me for a while now my darling. I'll be watching over you just the same as your mother has been." He promised.

"It isn't the same!" She told him, unable to suppress a sob in her voice. "Knowing you're at my performances steadies my hands, knowing I can always find you at home gives me the courage to live here with these strangers…"

"I will be at every performance, and I will always be in your heart. If you need something more physical, I will be right beside your mother in Boscherville. It may be harder to hear me, and more difficult to feel my presence than if I were sitting right beside you, but I will be there no matter what it takes." Erik held her as she cried into his shoulder, more than she had ever cried throughout her childhood.

When her tears steadied, Erik smiled some thoughtfully. "Did I ever tell you about when you were born?" Naeva shook her head and wiped fiercely at her eyes. "Your mother and I had wanted you so badly. We had had a stillborn son, and two miscarriages. Two more miscarriages and your mother was going to choose to be sterile rather than put herself through such heartbreak. But finally a pregnancy took."

"There wasn't a single hitch in the pregnancy, not one. She and I had our fights, but we always did and we worked through it like always. With her first pregnancy she had been certain she was having a boy, and she had been right, but with you she couldn't tell. We noticed she was larger in the belly than most pregnant women, and that was when she realized she was having twins. That was why she couldn't tell; we were having one of each, a girl and a boy."

"She sang to you night and day, loving every kick and squirm the two of you made inside her belly but loving even more when you would settle at the sound of her voice. She could sing a raging bull into submission, your mother could. You were born late, you and your brother, and the labor lasted for ages. You were born first, but you weren't breathing. When I went to check on your mother, she was desperate to hear your cry, worried that something was wrong and that you might not make it. I went back to you, cleaned your face and thumped your back, and suddenly you cried so sweetly Angels must have wept. You had these big, blue-green eyes that just… stared, straight up at me. I had always heard babies were born blind, but you saw me without a doubt."

Naeva smiled some, sadly. "I can only wish your mother had gotten to see those big, beautiful eyes of yours." He finished with a sad smile in return, and Naeva hugged him tightly.

"She's seen them from Heaven, Papa. I know she has. I'm sorry I kept you from her for so long…"

Erik shook his head. "Don't be sorry. We wanted you so badly, I had to stay and care for you. It would have been too selfish of me to leave you alone in the world when your mother and I were the ones who fought so hard to bring you into it."

The young woman hugged her father tight. "I love you, Papa. Tell Mama I love her too." Erik promised that he would, and stood to leave.

Two days later he was buried in a private ceremony at the Boscherville cemetery. Nothing but a placard marked the grave, merely reading the year of his death as per his wishes. He was laid next to his wife and stillborn son on a day when the snow was light and the nightingales sang sweetly. The only people in attendance were a young woman and her beau, dressed in black.

The young man kissed her cheek, and laid a single Lily on the grave. The girl closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of nature and humming along with a simple melody under her breath. She began to sing a quiet requiem, her voice hardly carrying above the breeze.

"_Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine: et lux perpetua luceat eis."_


	45. Epilogue

Purgatory was surprisingly like the streets of New York City, Aminta decided. There were no tall buildings, no streets, but the people seemed to flow in various directions, crisscrossing without stop like a river delta. Like in New York city, any person who stopped amidst the constant flow of people was bound to stand out like a sore thumb.

But that was exactly what Aminta had done. She stopped just after arriving, in spite of the strong pull to keep moving, to reflect and to repent for her sins. Souls brushed past her without hardly noticing her, bumping into her constantly on their journey to be forgiven for the crimes they had committed. But Aminta wasn't interested in being forgiven. Even when an angelic figure approached her, and offered her a seat in the kingdom of heaven, she had refused. She was simply not in Purgatory with the goal of going to heaven.

So many years ago, Erik had dragged Aminta down into the catacombs beneath Paris. Her life had been saved simply because of her refusal to move from where he had left her. He found her again, and had saved her (if begrudgingly) from certain death, cold and alone miles beneath the Opera. That was the thought again, here in Purgatory. The more she moved, the less chance Erik had of finding her when he finally joined her in Purgatory. And if he never came, if whatever forces had kept them apart tried to send him to Hell? Then she would simply never move and eventually join him there for her lack for her lack of repent.

Time was different in Purgatory than it was on earth. She must have been waiting for years, maybe even a decade or more, but the time was not a strain. It simply was. Instead of reflecting on her sins, she reflected on her past with Erik, and what his life must be like now. She didn't regret moment spent with him, in spite of how long they had lived together in sin, and she knew no amount of walking and reflecting would change that.

Every day was the same as the last, all of them flowing together as seamlessly as the influx of souls into Purgatory. That is, until the day she finally saw Erik.

Aminta didn't know how she recognized him. He was tall and thin, like he had always been… but his face was unmasked and unmarred. This… this was the face he was meant to have, the face of an Angel. But this soul, however different he may have looked, was without a doubt her husband. Her heart leapt and her stomach flipped as she stood on her toes to wave to him, an unnecessary gesture; Erik had recognized her immediately, and was already fighting his way through the crowd to her.

When they met, Aminta all but leapt into his arms with tears of happiness streaming down her face. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply and laughing through her tears. Erik supported her and returned her affections, grinning like she had never seen from him before. Finally she returned to her feet, lacing his fingers in hers, and began to walk.

"I missed you. Every second." She told him with a sad smile. "I'm… so sorry. I didn't mean to leave you like that. I don't know what happened…"

Erik kissed her to quiet her. "I know. I missed you too. What happened isn't your fault." He promised.

"Where you as good a father as I told you you'd be?" Aminta grinned up at him, nudging him some.

"I sure hope so. She was perfection, Aminta. I wish you could have met her. You two would have been close."

"Our daughter? Perfection? You mean you two weren't tearing eachother's hair out the whole time?" She teased gently. "No, I'm sure she was amazing. She had to have been. How old is she?"

"Sixteen, nearly seventeen. She's studying music at the Conservatoire de Paris. And she met a boy." Erik smiled.

Aminta mock-gasped. "I thought we agreed we were sending her to a convent. No boys. Ever."

Erik chuckled. "Things change. She's doing very well for herself. I'm proud of her, I know you would be too."

"How have you been?" Aminta asked after walking some in silence.

"…Unwell. Naeva was the only thing that kept me waking up every day." The honesty of his response caused her to frown, and he kissed her. "But it doesn't matter now. We're together."

She nodded. "I'd like to see them try and keep us apart now."

As she spoke, a figure Aminta recognized as a lesser Angel appeared before them. "Aminta Mendelssohn, you are being summoned."

Aminta squeezed her husband's hand. "I've already told you people once, I'm not going anywhere without my husband."

"Then he may come." Said the Angel simply, gesturing for her to follow him. With a raised brow to Erik, they followed the figure upwards out of Purgatory and into the lower levels of Heaven. They were greeted by a taller, more luminous Angel, and Erik tensed noticeably.

"Michael." She whispered to Aminta, causing Aminta to frown. This was the same Angel who had given Erik his verdict so long ago.

"Aminta Mendelssohn, you refused immediate admittance to Heaven to wait in Purgatory for the man beside you."

"And I'll continue to." She remarked, head held high. "What you did to him was sick and wrong. You gave him the ability to love, and then punished him for using that ability in a horrible, horrible way. I'll go wherever Erik goes, but I don't see the appeal of going to Heaven, not if I can't be there with him."

Michael bowed some, conceding to her point. "Upon seeing your immense loyalty, I am inclined to agree with you. A mistake was made, and we are going to do our best to rectify it. My Brother is to be returned his wings, and you are to be titled the Angel of Fidelity. That is, if you choose to accept."

Aminta looked up at her husband with wide eyes. "I… would we be able to be together?"

"Yes."

Erik nodded his agreement to her, and Aminta looked back to Michael. "Okay. We accept."

_-Fin-_

_

* * *

_**Author's Note**: Thank you to all of you who read my story, I never ever thought it'd get more than one or two accidental hits. If you're interesting in my of my work, keep your eyes on my account. I'll be posting the first chapter of a AU Phantom story set in Persia sometime today.


End file.
